


Hermione Granger and the Serpent's Renaissance: Atop the highest tower

by epsi10n



Series: Hermione Granger and the Serpent's Renaissance [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Plotty, Psychological Drama, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2018-12-12 13:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 48,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11737599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epsi10n/pseuds/epsi10n
Summary: They don't question why Hermione Granger is able to cast every spell in the first class, or why she seems to know Hogwarts: A History by heart. They never really notice her resourcefulness, determination or cunning. A Gryffindor meant for Ravenclaw, they call her- and yet...Who would've thought that once upon a time, her name was Salazar?Year 3: Now that House Slytherin has been dug out of the hole in the mud that it had buried itself into, it's time to get rid of the remnants of her "heir's" mess and build upward. There's much to be done to rebuild herself up to the towering height of her past life's accomplishments - and then to surpass it, and Hermione certainly makes very good use oftime.But as she gets to work on what would be the start of a majestic tower, Hermione can't shake off a niggling feeling that something's not quite as it should be. Maybe it's the dementors all around, or perhaps the two professors who are really starting to watch her, or perhaps something else entirely? And what's the deal with this Azkaban escapee, Sirius Black?





	1. Year 3: Atop the highest tower

-~sSs~-

**Year 3: Atop the highest tower**

-~sSs~-

_'To Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Godric Gryffindor'_

_'September XIX, CMLXXIX'_

_'My friends,_

_Please forgive me for not sending you each a separate letter. At the moment I find myself at a shortage of owls, especially ones disciplined enough to deliver mail after a three-day delay._

_I hope fortune has been kind to you lately. Words cannot express how happy I am to receive your previous letters. Helga, I am most glad to hear of the birth of your granddaughter. I can imagine that with your beautiful eyes, she will grow to be a fine young lady indeed. Your little Alexander has a happy family of his own now, yet it feels like only yesterday that he was still chasing his brothers around the school. How time flies… Rowena, congratulations on your and Master Gamp's newest spell invention. Please, do heed my advice and remember to let yourself rest. I realize that both of you have a tendency to lose yourselves in your books, often together, and that you're perfectly happy that way, but my point still stands. You must admit that food for thought is no substitute for actual food. Godric, my eyes may have deceived me but I seem to have read that you've decided to convince your ten year old grandson to take that bundle of twigs you call a broom for a ride. Well. You know what I have to say about that, so I shall not waste my ink. Evidently the boy takes after his grandfather._

_I am as well as I can be. The King is summoning me much less frequently now that I've helped him restore the country from its battle-torn condition and appease the muggles after his invasion, so I have more time on my hand. (Call me what you will, Sir Godric, but we have already discussed this before. I will gladly help a king better his country, but it honestly makes little difference to me which muggle sits on the throne as long as my home and my people are unharmed. Besides, King William was clearly winning and I like him better than King Harold anyways. But I digress…) I've had two small explosions in my laboratory, but they were easily taken care of and all. And we've had to sanction a rogue wizard who'd been using dark arts to terrorize muggles – again, easily taken care of. But do not worry about me getting bored, my friends. I've had plenty other things to keep me busy._

_I am writing to you now because in a few hours – about two days ago from your perspective, that is – I shall be able to confirm the existence of the mythical ferryman of River Styx. The stories call him cold, fair, impartial. And he will, I think, take me across. I do wonder if he would take me back. Wouldn't that go down in history…_

_Dear Rowena, I suspect you are now furrowing your brows and asking what I am raving about. In somewhat more scientific terms, I believe I have created a reincarnation potion in accordance of what I believe I understand about souls, life, being, and intelligence. The potion acts by first atomizing one's body when it is still firmly attached to the soul, then allowing the soul's innate coherence to aggregate it back together. Of the two steps, the probability of success for the first is 99.999% +/- 0.001%. The probability of success for the second is 50% +/- 50%._

_Owing to the nature of reincarnation, the only way to test this creation is to experience it myself. Please do not call me a hypocrite, dear Godric. I have considered and accepted the risks. I have already set my affairs in order, found my elf Tinker a new household where he'll be treated well, and tied up loose ends with the people I had unfinished business with. My only regret is not being able to preserve my ancestral home from being sullied by my chip-off-the-old-block nephew, but perhaps I should be glad that he will be less inclined than Marvolo to pawn away our collective knowledge to the least scrupulous bidder. No, he will simply ignore it and never touch a single book, or perhaps burn the library to make room for a new salon. I can live with that knowledge, I suppose, although I suppose it would all be irrelevant soon in any case so enough of that. I do not think there will be pain. The speed at which nerves conduct signals to the brain is much too slow compared to the speed at which the potion disintegrates them. I will leave no more information than this regarding my creation as I do not wish for future potioneers to dedicate their lives to replicate what could be a failure. Not that it would be a complete failure, since if anything I may have just invented a revolutionary new class of poison - which would be a monumental feat in its own right. I do believe that countless dastardly characters through the ages have sought a poison so quick-acting that it by nature has no possible antidote. Should they try to repeat my experiment, I hope they blow themselves up in their quest. Ah, I digress again. Forgive me._

_But whether I succeed or not… I may likely never see you again, my friends. How I miss the days when Hogwarts first opened its doors. We were running up and down the castle I recall, trying to placate parents and fend off monsters all in between teaching our small group of students. But we were so brilliant, the four of us! Dearest Rowena, you were shining when we met and you shine even brighter now. When I first saw you you were standing aloof at our parents' gatherings because as you bluntly put it, the accomplished masters refused to hold a discussion with a child and all the children our age were idiots. After I eventually convinced you that I wasn't as much an idiot as you thought, you finally deigned me worthy enough to grace me with the first of many animated conversations on spell crafting and betrothals. (Of course, you stopped complaining soon after you've actually met yours as I recall. I once again reserve the right to say "I told you so".) And in the early days of the school, we used to pile the tables high with scrolls of spell options and charm schemes, then bicker over where the inkwell might be. I didn't realize it then, but those were the best years of my life. It's been my honour to call you friend, Rowena._

_Dearest Helga, have we ever told you that we literally jumped for joy like little children after you told us you would join our project to create the first ever academy of witchcraft and wizardry? Sometimes I still wonder if you'd felt like you suddenly found three younger siblings in your care, because as much as I like to pretend otherwise I must admit that's what I must've been to you – a starry-eyed little boy, always looking for trouble. My scrapes simply lasted longer than Godric's, I suppose. Thank you, for caring for me all those years. I never managed to figure out how someone's heart can be so golden that she can be so kind to everyone, no matter what. You are truly extraordinary, Helga. I'm glad you have the happy life you've always wanted now. After so much hard work, you certainly deserve it._

_And dearest Godric... I know I often said I made a mistake in directing you to my village as you asked instead of letting you wander on. I usually said it after you'd nearly gotten both our heads taken off by yet another dragon/manticore/griffin. But the truth is, Godric, I'd do it a thousand times over again with no regret. You're the first friend I've ever had, Godric, and I would call you brother but even that may not do you justice. There are a thousand things I want to say but words cannot express how much you mean to me and I really can't imagine what I would've been without you._

_Please destroy this letter once you finish with it. I realize I must sound downright pathetic. But it's the truth, and I cannot bury it in my heart forever. You all mean more to me than any person alive, my friends._

_Goodbye._

_Yours truly,_

_Salazar Slytherin'_


	2. Year 3: Chapter 2

In the ancestral home of House Slytherin, Hermione stepped out of the pensieve that Helga had left for her. Carefully, she bottled up Helga's memory of receiving her last letter, of showing it to an astonished Rowena and Godric, of apparating to Slytherin castle at once only to find a scorched laboratory and a very thin layer of dust surrounding a fallen flask atop some pieces of charred fabric, then finally of casting a modified version of one of the wards they'd designed together so long ago. It was meant to be cast by four people simultaneously. With three, they'd just been able to manage it. _'They still cared enough to do this for me, after all this time…'_

The silvery memory had been in one of her flasks on the blackened workbench when she found it. She'd move it to a more secure location as soon as she could find a container worthy of it.

Indeed, apart from the slight blackening of the potion laboratory – the very last room she'd stood in before she'd departed from her first life – every bit of the castle was exactly as she remembered it once she'd removed the thick coat of dust. Shielded from muggles and wizards alike by her friends' spells, protected from age by the original layers of charms cast by generations of Lords and Ladies Slytherin, there was not a single crack more in the cool grey stone walls or the polished dark wood panelling. Even the documents for the long-gone village were neatly filed away in the "public" study used for greeting muggles, untouched.

The thin circle of evergreen trees that surrounded the perimeter of the castle grounds were still there, though since the ward functioned by contorting space they would appear as a small cluster to someone outside. The ivy that clung to the castle walls had managed to cover the first storey entirely - including much of the windows and doors - so that light took on a pale green tint as it filtered through the thick foliage into the darkened rooms. Respecting the work of nature, she'd decided to leave them where they were for now. It was not as if she would need to leave or enter the castle by any means other than apparition anytime in the foreseeable future.

And the rose garden... She'd been so sure that it had died with age under rubbles and weeds and harsh weather, but no, her roses thrived! Only, the once precisely manicured French garden had grown into something far more organic. The pebbles that separated the parterres had been completely overgrown and buried, so that the two marble pavilions seemed to stand among a sea of flowers. The boundary between the roses and the grass that surrounded them - which had grown very tall in the absence of interference - had become so diffuse that they bled into each other, each seeking to invade the other's territory but neither quite managing to gain ground.

Looking out from the windows of the back-facing gallery, Hermione found it quite awe-inspiring. And by the stars, even the soft clicking of her footsteps in the silence of the long stone corridor was as she remembered all her life. She'd thought it all gone. Dead. Destroyed. Yet, it was here. In a ruffled and less organized form, perhaps, but nevertheless here. _Waiting._

Pale orbs of light relit one by one in the lamps that lined the halls as she passed, and green flames sprung into life in the fireplaces. The ancient serpent gargoyles that guarded the castle's various rooms hissed in greeting, awakened once more by her magic. Then they coiled, ready and attentive for their next order.

It was a very thoughtful Hermione that apparated back to Hogwarts just in time to board the Express.

So her legacy had finally risen from the ashes, she mused as she watched Harry and Blaise play chess against each other while being advised by Ron and Theo respectively. Next step?

Now that she'd capitalized on the opportunity presented by Lockhart last year, her priority was once again her troublesome "heir". This not only meant finishing up with the horcrux so that she could actually kill him later, but also learning as much about him as possible so that she could better undo the damage he'd done. Better yet, remove everything he might've used to rally his supporters, or some upstart could easily pick up where he'd left off.

Among these was the tension between the traditionalists, led by purebloods, and the muggleborns and the "progressive" half-bloods. Which by itself was a very difficult situation to resolve.

On a different front, it would be a good idea to start expanding her funds. The gold she'd extracted from the family vault to set aside for herself was only meant to be a seed fund - enough to modestly live off of for a very long time, but hardly enough to play the games she'd wanted to play. It was another aspect of strengthening herself, she supposed.

There was plenty to do, in short.

Meeting her parents at the train station marked the beginning of a summer spent dutifully corresponding with all of her classmates she'd promised to write to, though some more than others. She'd congratulated Ron on his family's lottery winning, and complimented Harry on his decision to voluntarily offer to lock up all his magical school supplies apart from his books and the unsuspicious locket wand-holster. (Apparently Petunia now liked him enough to finally tell Dudley off on his behalf for once, to the complete bafflement of his cousin.) She'd encouraged Neville to continue his Nocturne practice, and expressed her congratulations that he could now follow along the tune for the Weird Sisters song on the radio. She'd heard about the old families' summer parties from Blaise, who was still fairly new to those occasions, as well as Theo and Daphne, who sounded rather bored until the article about the escape of one Sirius Black appeared.

 _That_ had been the subject of many speculations, since at the time of his arrest the Ven. Mr. Black was the last person one would suspect of being a Death Eater. Hence, the fact that he'd been arrested for first betraying his best friend's family then blasting his other best friend to smithereens along with a street full of muggles had been shocking to even their parents – more shocking, in fact, than that he'd now broken out of the supposedly inescapable magical prison Azkaban. According to Daphne, the prevalent believe among the younger attendees was that either Black secretly studied dark magic and turned coat because he was discovered, or that Black had actually died sometime during the war and the entire thing was a smear campaign. According to Theo, the adults among their circle of acquaintances did not believe Black had been a Death Eater for very long if he ever was, and had discussed whether Black had a friend in the ministry, or whether Azkaban was not as secure as they'd originally believed. According to Blaise, Minister Fudge said Black was often heard muttering "he's at Hogwarts" in the days leading up to his escape, and they were all very concerned for Harry's health now.

Hermione took the fact that they hadn't all clamped up to mean that they hadn't considered the notion that Voldemort might be responsible for this. Not that the theory really added up. Even if Black had cleverly pulled the wool over the eyes of everyone save Voldemort himself since his school days, there was no reason for Voldemort to trust him any more than another Death Eater.

No, it was more likely that Black did it himself. In which case he was more likely to go after Harry, since Voldemort would've followed the same strategy she herself was employing – lay low until he could gain enough strength. But there was another mystery. Why should Black feel the need to avenge Voldemort when someone in his position would've almost certainly only turned traitor for profit? Unless, once again, he'd been worshipping Voldemort for a long time and had managed to pulled the wool over everyone's eyes? Clearly there was something she was missing in her interpretation.

But the rest of the magical population proved to be even more clueless regarding Black's motives and actions. This was demonstrated by yet one more of Hermione's summer correspondence when she'd apparated to meet him in Diagon Alley.

"Bad time for shop owners," the elderly Mr. Miller warned her in a wheezing voice as he handed over the key to what used to be his, but was now hers, little establishment. "Death Eater on the loose and all."

"Oh don't be silly! Sirius Black won't bother with us common shopkeepers," Hermione remarked in the cheerful, chirping tone of her newly-dubbed Regular Disguise #1: Sandra Homer, a short, plumb baby-faced witch who wore her brown hair in a messy bun.

"O-oh you never know," Mr. Miller shuddered, "besides, someone who's been in Azkaban for 10 years probably can't be very sound in the head… Anyways, he's your problem now lady. I'll be enjoying my retirement somewhere in Italy."

"You do that, dear!" 'Sandra Homer' called after him, before turning around to examine her acquisition.

With the expenditure of 800 galleons, she was now the proud owner of a tiny empty storefront. It was about the size of a very small bedroom, but grew into something more adequate with a space extension charm. Looking around to inspect her handiwork, Hermione mentally plotted out the floor plan.

She'd given quite a bit of consideration to the selection of her first source of income. She didn't yet have the capital to make money from investing in others' businesses, so she'd have to start her own. Offering a service was out of question due to the time commitment, so it would have to be a shop. A shop for something people would be willing to pay galleons for, as well, if she wanted a significant profit. She'd passed over the idea of an apothecary, as it would involve licensing and filing for patents and the like – things better done when she could use her real name. Of course, the customers of Knockturn Alley wouldn't give a damn about licensing. In fact, she could probably make quite a fortune there rather quickly with her knowledge. But she wasn't about to disregard her principles to prostitute her magic for some gold. That was Marvolo's specialty.

The business plan she'd settled on in the end actually took advantage of the new amendment for the Muggle Protection Act, Hermione noted. Emptying the pile of wood and scrap metal she'd salvaged from a muggle junk-yard into the middle of the room, she began the lengthy process of permanently transfiguring her furniture – elegantly curved racks, polished dark wood shelves and counter, and thin wood screens to partition the space. The single window was far from enough to illuminate the enlarged space, so black iron "torches" were installed along the walls, each holding a floating orb of soft, cream-coloured light. The only completed pieces of furniture she'd brought with her – a short low black leather sofa and matching leather stools – were set down.

And finally, the sign board. A slab of dark wood, with engraved, faintly-glowing letters:

_The Silver Spindle_

_Magically enhanced apparel and tailoring_

Yes, she, Hermione Salazar Granger Slytherin, was opening a boutique. How Godric would laugh if he could see her now…

But it was the obvious choice, really. After all, it was generally agreed that clothes were one of the things one could never have too much of, and the variety could be even greater if charms were added to the equation. On one hand, she could have twinkling ball gowns, perfectly flaring robes (thank you Severus), and other special effects for beauty or simply dramatic entrances. On the other hand, she could have self-cleaning shirts, robes with space-extended pockets, and temperature-regulating cloaks. And, of course, ladies' underwear that feels perfectly normal except with a very fast-acting fluid vanishing function for that time of the month. She hadn't found any other products like this so she wasn't sure what spells all the other witches were using these days - which might've been the reason why she'd ended up spending hours developing her own charm scheme in the girl's bathroom… But she had a feeling her efforts would pay off now. Ahem.

And finally, as an add-on to entice the cautious or the paranoid or those whose job required it, she could offer warding – it would have to be a fairly expensive add on, mind, since proper warding took time. It was one thing to cast a shield charm on a cloak, but another to anchor it so that it could last for years and weather a minor battle. After the catastrophe witnessed during the magical wars, it would be good if her shop could leave the public better protected. She could not offer them dark wards, but she could give them the strongest shield that could be managed by light magic.

But the best part about the idea was, 'Sandra Homer' inspected her finished work with satisfaction, it could be a spark of inspiration for the progress that the magical world seemed to be lacking.

It was about time people realized just what one could do with a bit of creativity and magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For perspective, the amount of gold in Hermione's vault is currently about 3 times that of Harry's. It's substantial compared to that of a young family's savings, but it's loose change compared to the fortune that the Slytherin family had amassed in Salazar's time (which would have been on the scale of the Malfoy vault or the Black vault). 
> 
> Well, some might insist that Harry's vault is only a trust fund and that the Potter family actually had way more money, in which case Harry would be richer than Hermione.


	3. Year 3: Chapter 3

By the end of the summer, Hermione was fairly pleased with her progress. Her hiring advertisement in the Prophet had been answered by five people, three of whom she'd decided to employ. Among them, Mary and Timothy were both experienced tailors who knew how to fit clothes and sew quickly with the help of charms. Meanwhile, Alice was a young graduate and hobby fashion designer, whose work had a certain flair that Hermione liked.

Currently Hermione was paying them a set salary to do the physical fitting and designing of the clothes, while leaving the magical component of the work for herself. When the shop grows big enough, she would teach them the charm schemes and offer to sell them each up to 20% of the shares in the business. Then she could hand off the daily running of the shop entirely.

And after three more weeks of preparations to build up a small stock of merchandise, The Silver Spindle finally opened to the curiosity of shoppers and Diagon Alley residents alike. Drawn in by the unusualness of the concept, people had purchased her self-cleaning and temperature regulating staple garments out of curiosity, and were enthusiastically informed of the other offered services by Mary. According to the kindly tailor, muggleborns seemed to be especially fascinated with the magically enhanced dresses, like the floor-length gown of white gauze with the subtly floating hem. Many customers were baffled, and perhaps a little outraged, when told that unlike at Madame Malkins, their tailor-made purchases would not be ready until the next day. But Hermione unfortunately had to insist on this rule, especially since she could no longer simply disapparate from her room while her parents were at work now that Harry was once again staying over to avoid his aunt Marge. The customers could choose to have their finished robes delivered to them by owl if they wished, though.

And by September, Hermione received her letter from Hogwarts as well as what she'd really been waiting for the whole summer.

The promise of a time turner.

Along with a list of instructions and warnings, and a note from McGonagall reminding her of the rarity of these devices and the trust that the school and the ministry was giving her. Finally, a note urging her to use it no more than required to attend her classes and complete her homework.

Hermione had immediately replied back, thanking them and promising to use the time turner safely and responsibly. Of course, the definition of "responsible" was a matter of perspectives. Really, one of the greatest limits on her plans last year was time. Now, she was beyond glad to be relieved of that problem.

Finally, it was once again time to board the Express. Meeting the Weasleys on the platform, Harry and Ron settled into a compartment that was empty save for a sleeping man they'd never met before. Meanwhile, Hermione spent much of the trip traversing the train as before, spending some time with each of her friend and playing a few games of cards in the third year Slytherins' compartment where Blaise, Theo and Daphne were sitting. By the time she'd been released from Fred and George's compartment (The twins had been brainstorming what best to do to Filch after the start-of-the-year feast. Hermione had suggested discreetly charming his shoes to squeak like mice for Mrs. Norris's benefit, but they'd thought it too subtle to be worth the risk.), it was already well into the afternoon.

Harry and Ron's compartment was littered with candy wrappers when she returned. "Well you took your time," Ron said through a mouthful of pumpkin pastry.

Hermione pushed some wrappers out of the way to make room for herself, and nodded toward the fourth occupant of the compartment. "Do you know who he is yet?"

"His luggage says 'Professor R.J. Lupin'," Ron told her, "but he hasn't woken up at all since we got here."

"I thought professors didn't take the train?" Harry wondered.

Suddenly, the train screeched to a halt and the compartment was plunged into total darkness as all the lamps went out. The temperature began to drop.

"Salazar..." Ron whipped out his wand, casting lumos. "Why are we stopping? And why's it suddenly winter?"

"No idea," Harry muttered, nervously pointing his wand at the door, "We can't possibly be there yet."

Hermione followed suit, her breath frosting the windows as she attempted to see what was happening outside. Then, a black, hooded figure appeared, and suddenly she was no longer seeing frost but fire. Fire and piles of twigs under wooden crosses and hundreds of torches held by people so much taller than her. A sneering face, connected to an arm roughly holding her by the neck of her cloak, dangling her helplessly in the air like a doll. The very image of absolute, horrendous vulnerability. Somewhere, someone screamed.

Hermione forced herself to focus on the present and narrowed her eyes. They were being attacked by dementors, of all beings?! Even in the entirety of her past life she'd only met them on three occasions, with no more than one dementor at a time. But even through the compartment door she could see at least four in the corridor. How was this possible?

At the moment, Ron had shrunk into a corner and Harry seemed to have fainted. Hermione took a second to remember her pride and joy upon seeing the final spell to seal the wards of Hogwarts Castle settle into place from the tips of four wands, and cast: "Expecto patronum!"

The familiar silver form of a young basilisk sprung forth and struck at the dementor, forcing it back. They seemed willing enough to move away after that, but it gave her no comfort. What if they move on to target other compartments? How many more of them were there? She could not defend the entire train!

"They won't hurt you," Hermione found a calloused hand on her shoulder, "They're Azkaban guards. They've been ordered here to search for Sirius Black and to harm no one else." The hoarse voice of the new professor said.

"They're under the ministry's _control_?" Hermione repeated dumbly. She was simultaneously relieved that she was not about to have her soul sucked out, as well as more than a little wary. The ministry was so sure of its power over these creatures that it felt safe sending them to a train full of children?

Professor Lupin looked tired despite the long nap. He, too, had his wand out, Hermione noticed, despite him saying that there was no danger. But then again, these _were_ dementors after all. "That was an impressive patronus, especially for a … third year?" he smiled kindly at her, "And was it corporeal too? Even most OWL students have trouble with it!"

"Yeah S-Sally what in Merlin's name did you do to them?" Spluttered Ron.

Well. Then there was that.

"Patronus charm defends against dementors. I, er, read about it in a book," Hermione smiled sheepishly. She didn't think many people would immediately recognize a basilisk for what it was, but if words get out that "Sally could cast a patronus that looked like an abnormally giant serpentine something that she refused to disclose", there could still be big trouble. Especially since it was known that a patronus would never take on a form that the caster was not familiar with.

Professor Lupin seemed as if he wanted to say more, but was distracted when Harry stirred. Hermione quickly took the opportunity to cleave away exactly thirty seconds of both Lupin and Ron's memories, before joining the small huddle around where Harry had fallen. Professor Lupin gave Harry some chocolate and went to speak with the conductor, while Neville and Ginny stumbled into the compartment.

"It was horrible!" Ginny sobbed, "I was just looking for Ron, and those - those _things_ came through the corridor! And when they floated past me –"

"It was so cold!" Neville shivered.

"I felt weird," Ron shifted his shoulders uncomfortably, "like I'd never feel cheerful again…"

"But didn't any of you … fall off your seats?" Asked Harry.

"No," Hermione told him, "But I've read that dementors affect you worse the more terrifying experiences you have. I'm sorry, Harry, but you were the one who had to meet You-know-who and all…"

"What happened in your compartment?" Asked Neville, "I thought I saw a bright light after the dementor went in, and then it came out again."

"Light? I cast a lumos, but I'm pretty sure it didn't do anything to it," Ron scratched his head.

"I really don't like those things," Hermione muttered. Anything that mutilated a soul was, in her opinion, a fate perhaps even worse than death. Leaching away all happy thoughts was not a good prospect either. And here was a _collective_ of dementors, whose nature was to do both… She shuddered. She'd never felt more compelled to find a way to rid the world of those monstrosities for ever. But one thing at a time.

But they really did think Sirius Black was going to come to Hogwarts for Harry, didn't they? Even at the train station, Mr. Weasley made Harry promise not to go looking for Black. Harry had been understandably incensed when he found out from their Slytherin friends that Black was supposed to be friends with his parents, but he eventually agreed that he should wait until he would actually be a match for Black before he tries to take revenge. Harry and Blaise had then each proposed in their letters that the five of them should practice duelling together sometime in addition to their study sessions, which Hermione whole-heartedly supported. She just hoped Black wouldn't attack Harry before then, for whatever reason.

They didn't talk much during the remainder of the trip, or in the thestral-drawn carriages that took them to the castle. A number of people seemed to have heard about what happened to Harry on the train, and shot him concerned glances to his embarrassment. At the Great Hall, Harry and Hermione were pulled from the progression by Professor McGonagall. Harry was promptly sent to see Madam Pomfrey, leaving Hermione alone with the Deputy Headmistress. Already jumpy due to the dementor incident, Hermione wondered if she was going to be questioned until McGonagall told her that she merely wanted to talk to her about her new schedule and give her the time turner.

Really, the day was turning out to be quite a bit more eventful than she'd expected.

She and Harry missed the sorting ceremony, but they did catch Dumbledore's announcement that Professor Lupin would be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and Hagrid – no, _Professor_ Hagrid now – would be replacing Kettleburn for the Care of Magical Creatures class. Then there was the much more unpleasant announcement that the Dementors would be patrolling both the castle and Hogsmead this year, and that they would have no mercy on anyone who left school grounds without permission.

Hermione firmly disregarded this, as after dinner she immediately went down to her Chamber and disapparated to Diagon Alley. Her shop was less busy now that the autumn shopping season was officially over, but by the time 'Sandra Homer' was finished with the day's batch of robes to be charmed it was already around midnight. That was when Hermione disregarded McGonagall's instructions as well and turned her shiny new time turner back by three hours. It was about time she really got to work on the _thing_ that really should've been taken care of sooner.

Going back into the antechamber, she retrieved the little black book from the chest where it was imprisoned and began to write.

_'Dear Diary, today was positively dreadful…'_


	4. Year 3: Chapter 4

_'Dear Diary,'_ Hermione wrote. Simultaneously, another quill was copying her words onto a blank notebook on its own.

_'Today was positively dreadful. They insisted that there wasn't enough room in their compartment, so I had to sit all by myself for the whole train ride. Why couldn't Amy just move over a little bit? I just wanted someone to talk to! It's even worse than last year. At least last year they let me sit with them, even if they didn't talk to me much. And I thought I could make more friends in a new school. I'm not a bad person to be around, right? I mean, I would help people with homework and everything and I'm earning more house points than anyone else in class and I never lose any for breaking rules and - '_

Hermione smirked as her words began to disappear, to be replaced by neat black letters. **_'Hello, my name is Tom. May I ask who you are and how you came by me?'_**

Perfectly polite, but clearly irritated that she was not Ginny by the way he'd cut her off. Interesting. _'My name is Sally, and I found you last year behind a U-bend in the girl's bathroom. I thought someone would come back for you but you were still there after a week so I just took you. I'm so sorry, do you belong to someone?'_ See what he'd say to that.

 ** _'I belong to a girl named Ginny Weasley,'_** 'Tom' replied. Evidently he did not appreciate the work he'd done on the younger girl going to waste. Attached to old investments, eh? **' _Could you return me to her, Sally?'_**

Not a chance. _'But I don't know anybody called Ginny Weasley, Tom.'_

**_'She's in Gryffindor, and she was a first year when she last wrote to me.'_ **

So insistent? That was definitely a trait to remember. _'I guess I can give you to Professor McGonagall, then. She's the Head of Gryffindor, so she would know.'_ Hermione replied, and waited for him to consider. She knew it would be a risk for Tom to let the diary pass into McGonagall's hands, because she knew him from school and would recognize his name. On the other hand, here was another exploitable child in need of a confidant…

Predictably, the reply came: **_'Don't bother, Sally. I guess Ginny wouldn't miss me very much if she left me in a toilet and forgot about me. And here I thought I was her friend…'_**

Hermione could almost feel the charm that coerced trust and attachment turning up to max. It was too bad for Tom that she already knew what the diary was. _'We can be friends! I mean, if you want, that is…'_

Hook, line, and sinker.

**_'I would love to have someone to talk to, Sally. I'm sorry to hear about your day.'_ **

_'Oh, I'm so sorry about that rant! I was just so lonely and annoyed with the other girls. They would only talk to me if they need help on their essays, and that's only if they're really desperate. Oh, Tom, I just remembered! I've seen your name before, on the list of prefects and head boys. You were an actual person, right?'_

**_'I was a student here too, Sally. I preserved my memory in my diary so that it could write back to me when I needed company.'_ **

_'Aw, Tom… Were you lonely when you first got here too?'_ Make him do the talking.

**_'Yes. When I was sorted, everyone looked down on me because I was a muggle-raised orphan with no money and second-hand clothes. I knew they thought I was not worth their attention, even if I'm always the first person to master new spells and I always have the highest grade in the class. I showed them how wrong they were, though.'_ **

He needed to feel that he was superior, Hermione realized. No surprise there.

 ** _'I think we're very much alike, Sally.'_** Tom then added. Interestingly, the horcrux within the diary "shuddered" minutely, as if it could hardly bring itself to write such a disgusting statement.

Hermione didn't know which of them were more disgusted by that statement. Judging by the fact that she was addressed almost as an afterthought, though, what he said about his school experience was probably genuine to a great degree.

_'Thanks, Tom. Do you think I can prove them wrong too? Show them that I'm worth being friends with?'_

**_'I think if they don't want you as a friend then it's their loss.'_ **

This statement was, of course, loaded with the suggestion that she should not try to grow too attached to anyone else. More precisely, anyone but him. It seemed he could be quite subtle as well if he made an effort.

 _'You're so nice, Tom… It's just… It just really hurts that they don't like me. Maybe they just don't understand me…'_ Hermione decided on this. Hopefully by continuing to show him that empathy was an effective way of getting through to her, he would be more likely to talk about himself. Which shouldn't be too difficult. Evidently he'd want her to pour her heart and soul into his diary, but from what she'd seen so far Tom seemed to love being listened to.

Besides, it was generally very difficult to tell an elaborate lie without any semblance of truth. So if one knew what to look for...

_'Oh, it's late. I think I'll go to sleep now. Goodnight, Tom. I'll talk to you tomorrow.'_

**_'Goodnight, Sally.'_ **

* * *

The next day saw the start of classes, including the new subjects. Her time turner was proving to be very helpful indeed. Currently, her schedule involved attending her classes as usual, then going back by an hour after every conflicted class. Then complete her homework and socialize in either the common room or the library until bedtime, then shut her bedcurtains and turn the time back to around dinner. Next, apparate from her Chamber to Diagon Alley, returning to school at around ten. Finally, write to teenage Voldemort for about an hour and work on either her nocturne, target practice or duelling footworks until she was ready to actually go to sleep.

The little golden gadget truly was a treasure. Twice she'd contemplated taking it apart to study and hopefully recreate it, but she decided against it as she wasn't confident that she would be able to put it back together. Maybe later, then. Just before she was supposed to give it back. She had plenty of time now, after all.

As for the classes themselves, Arithmancy and Runes were both very well-taught, she found. Muggle studies was rather superficial, but she still had to applaud Professor Burbage as at least it was accurate and mostly unbiased. In Care of Magical Creatures, Hagrid's reception was a bit cold due to the textbook's relentless effort to chomp the student's arms off – that is, until Hagrid informed them that they had to stroke the spine, _obviously_. Then Draco got into a bit of trouble with the hippogriff they were supposed to be riding, but had enough sense to back off before the beast could become angry enough to slash him or worse. Her expectations for Divination was admittedly low, though after the first class it seemed to be justified. Professor Trelawney liked to punctuate her sentences with "predictions" that were either commonly established opinions (Harry had an enemy), or so vague that it could be fulfilled by anything ("The thing you're dreading will happen on the sixteenth"), or self-fulfilling ("Neville would break his teacup"). Then she'd frightened the class by insisting that Harry's tealeafs looked like the omen of death. Not wanting trouble, Hermione sat back into her chair and said nothing until they were out of the stuffy tower, although Lavender and Parvati apparently worshipped the misty-eyed Seer.

Then, finally, it was time for the first Defence Against the Dark Arts class of the year. This was the most highly anticipated class of all - in part because thanks to the previous two professors, it was nigh impossible for anyone to form an expectation of any kind.

"Where d'you think we're going?" Neville asked as they followed their new professor through the halls.

"I dunno, but it seems like it's going to be a practical lesson again," Harry shrugged.

"Hope it's nothing that pixie disaster like last year," Ron sniggered, "honestly, he –"

"Inside, please," Professor Lupin ushered the chattering third year Gryffindors into the staffroom, nodding courteously to Professor Snape who was just leaving. It was evident that Snape strongly disliked him, although he'd worked to keep this mostly veiled. Hermione watched him sweep out of the room curiously, because there seemed to be some history here, but he gave her no other hints. Meanwhile, her classmates gathered around the mahogany table and waited excitedly to find out why they were here.

"Now then," Lupin beckoned everyone to the old wardrobe at the end of the room, which gave a loud bang. Hermione had a fairly good guess of what it was then. They would be learning to defeat a boggart.

A cacophony of whispering broke out once Professor Lupin announced the lesson to the class. Her classmates, already running high on adrenalin, were in various states of excitement, trepidation, or mild panic. Parvati was bouncing on her toes, while Ron looked a little green and kept muttering "take its legs off". Neville's face was hard with determination, while Harry seemed quite confused.

Hermione had dealt with boggarts before, having on occasions needed to clean them out of Hogwart's various nooks and crannies, but she unfortunately had a different problem. Boggarts took the form of one's worst fear, which was why Lupin would almost certainly ask all of them to confront the boggart together. However, the last time she'd seen a boggart it had turned into a torch-wielding medieval muggle – a lingering effect, she supposed, from that time she'd came within an inch from burning at the stakes when she was still a very young child, when she was still vulnerable...

It would be fairly difficult to explain in modern society.

Hermione slowly allowed her classmates to shuffle in front of her until she was at the back of the group. Preferably she would avoid the Boggart altogether. If it saw her, however, she'd have to silently cast the spell to force it to take on a different shape immediately. Fail that, and she may have to obliviate people again. That would be twice in the same week.

It seemed that new Defence Against the Dark Arts professors never fail to stir up trouble, Hermione noted with an amused sigh, before starting to prepare her defence. Perhaps she would change him into one of those deranged axe-wielding madmen from the movies. And maybe then change the axe into an ice cream cone or something.

"Everyone ready? On the count of one – two – three - " Professor Lupin called. Hermione nodded like everyone else and readied her wand. Torch to axe, and quickly. Right.

On three, Lupin magically opened the wardrobe door, and a mummy tumbled out to land in front of Parvati.

"Riddikulus!" The mummy's bandage unravelled and its head fell off. Lupin then called Seamus over, and the mummy turned into a shrieking banshee.

"Riddikulus!" The banshee suddenly lost its voice and began to make comical choking motions.

Crack! The banshee turned into a rat, then – crack! - a rattlesnake, then – crack! – a single bloody eyeball. It turned into a bloody hand that began to crawl like a crab upon seeing Dean, then a loud, disappointed-sounding howler for Neville, then a monstrously large spider for Ron. "Riddikulus!" The redhead bellowed, and the spider lost its legs. It rolled over and over, toward Lavender who squealed and ran out of the way, until it finally stopped in front of Hermione.

Having carefully watched the boggart roll, Hermione was waiting for it. _'Riddikulu – '_

But the boggart did not turn into anything remotely human. Instead, she found herself staring into a large, ornate mirror.

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

_I show not your face but your heart's desire._

The Mirror of Erised. The very same one she'd came across in her first year.

It was better if she didn't look, she'd decided then. It was harder to mourn what you'd never seen, she'd decided then. But here she stood before it now, held in place by equal parts surprise, confusion and curiosity.

Indeed, the ancient-looking mirror did not show a reflection. Instead, it showed a very familiar tall, black-haired figure in dark green robes, with flashing silver eyes and a faint but definitely genuine smile on his lips. Beside him was an indescript someone – a lady, maybe? - whose every feature would seem to change or blur as soon as Hermione tried to focus on it. But the second figure was wearing a similar expression as the wizard, she was somehow very sure of that… And there was a small child as well, whose poise and flashing eyes were just like his father's. It was such a simple, unremarkable image. Far too unremarkable to be displayed in such a powerful artefact, one would think. One could almost call it the perfect generic family portrait, yet… There was just something about it. Something that made her heart beat just a little faster.

The silver-eyed figure in the mirror gave her a long, knowing look, and slid his arm through his companion's.

 _'Mother? Father?'_ Hermione was confused. She looked to the man, since of the three figures he was the only one she could see clearly. But then, upon closer inspection, she quickly realized that it was not her father Lord Solomon Slytherin but rather...

Startled, she all but scrambled back.

Why…?

_'Why are you showing me this?!'_

She barely even noticed that Professor Lupin was coming her way until the Mirror of Erised turned into a silvery-white orb hanging in the air. "Would you like to try again?" He asked her gently.

Hermione nodded, more stiffly than she would've liked, and forcibly turned the boggart into a pile of dust before someone else finished it off.

At the end of class, Lupin awarded everyone five points, as well as five points to Harry who did not get the chance to try the spell but answered a question at the start of the lesson. Harry looked unhappy about something as they left the staffroom, but he wasn't forthcoming and she wasn't in the mood to ask again. The rest of the class, however, was chattering excitedly about how they'd defeated their various monsters.

"Did you see me take that banshee?" Shouted Seamus.

"And the hand!"

"And my spider! It was so scary!"

"I wonder why Professor Lupin's afraid of a crystal ball,"

"Are you okay, Sally?" Neville asked, "You look a bit, well… off."

Hermione carefully schooled her features into something more cheerful and replied that she was fine, just annoyed that she didn't beat the boggart on the first try like everyone else.

"How come it turned into a mirror for you though?" Asked Ron, clearly trying to work out how such a placid-looking object could be scary.

"Hey!" Lavender defended her, "A girl can care about how she looks! Don't worry Sally, you look fine. It's not real. It's just trying to scare you."

"Yeah, Ron. You wouldn't understand." Or anyone else for that matter, Hermione thought wryly. Even she couldn't comprehend what she was seeing, nor did she wish to really.

Some of the boys sniggered good-naturedly. "Sorry Sally," chuckled Ron, "I'm just surprised. I thought yours would be a piece of homework that only got nine out of ten!"

Hermione was thankful that Ron and Harry only saw her boggart from the side, or they would've recognized it. Another close call… She really had to be more careful. But then again, how was she to know?

Clearing her mind, Hermione gathered her laden and undetectably extended book bag, and left for the next destination in her time-turned schedule. She had work to do. Filling her head with worries wouldn't help her any. Besides, what Lavender said had merit. The boggart was a mere imitation of the real Mirror of Erised. It didn't have to show the truth. It probably _wouldn't_ have shown the truth, since it would instead show her exactly what she didn't want to see... right?

Sod it all. It wasn't healthy to think too much on a boggart, anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of Sal's boggart?


	5. Year 3: Chapter 5

_'Dear Tom, today was okay. It was a bit windy outside, but it's not too cold to go out without getting all bundled up yet. I like to read by the lake. It's really peaceful there. The way the long ripples move in the water is very calming. It's so rhythmic, so steady. And the way the light dances through the water too… On good days it makes the lake glow like emerald.'_

**_'I liked the lake too. The water moves in such a smooth, measured way. It cannot be broken or crushed. Inspiring, really.'_ **

Hermione smiled, knowing that she'd likely managed to evoke memories of the Slytherin common room. It was good to know that she could somewhat influence him to give genuine responses. And now to reward him for his efforts at empathy, and capitalize…

_'I know, right? I didn't think anyone else would like to watch the water like I do. Sometimes people look at me like I'm weird when I stay there for too long. With the girls in my year, you have to do everything just like them to fit in. Like the same things, act the same way and all.'_

**_'I never did fit in either, Sally. I was always different, somehow.'_ **

_'Aww Tom… You poor thing…'_ Hermione wrote, deliberately laying it on thick, _'I'm so sorry to hear that!'_

 ** _'But I made sure that they saw me the right way, eventually. I demonstrated my strength and made sure that they respected me like they should.'_** Tom seemed very quick to assert that he was not a "poor thing", despite the advantage it would give him to have her sympathy. He detested feeling vulnerable, then? Maybe they truly were kindred souls in that regard… Or perhaps he was a megalomaniac who wanted everyone to acknowledge him as a god among men? **_'So don't worry about people too much, Sally. Besides, we can look out for each other.'_** His writing, Hermione had noticed by now, was slightly less orderly when he seemed to be truly passionate about something, compared to his perfectly even and upright script when he was flat out lying. Another thing to remember, then.

_'Thanks, Tom. You're the best!'_

**_'But of course. What are friends for?'_ **

_'But Tom, I wish someone could've been there for you too. I have you now, but you didn't have anyone who really understood you then…'_

Confusion. Apparently Tom had never been asked such a question before, and was so stumped as to what the appropriate response was that he didn't answer for almost half a minute.

 ** _'It's quite alright. I accepted that I was different a long time ago.'_** He eventually decided on this.

And completely misunderstood the "concern"?

Very interesting, as she'd thought this feeling would resonate with someone like him most of all. Did he really not see anything wrong with –

But with what, exactly? Now that she tried to write it down, she found that she couldn't exactly articulate it either. _'It's not that, it's ...'_

If one deemed oneself special, perhaps more capable or more ambitious than most, then it would only be logical to expect that others would not think the same way as oneself right?

_'…nevermind. I'm just glad I have you now, I mean.'_

A shame, that she couldn't probe him further on that front. But at least she was now fairly certain that Voldemort had no real trusty accomplices that she'd need to root out from somewhere within the shadows – even though many would _seem_ to be a member of his inner circle. When it came to what was important, he would always rely on no one. No one would know enough about his plans to cripple him significantly through betrayal, or conversely, help him to a great extent when he'd need it.

Voldemort probably didn't think that day would ever come. Hermione suspected he would be in for a surprise sooner than he believed.

_'I think I'll turn in for the night. Astronomy class was so long! Goodnight, Tom.'_

**_'Sweet dreams, Sally.'_ **

* * *

"Sal, why are we meeting in the middle of the hallway?" asked Blaise, "I thought you're taking us to our new lair."

"It's not a  _lair_ ," Hermione corrected, pacing in front of the tapestry. She'd miss the convenience of the general ignorance of the Room of Requirement. But then again, they _had_ built the room for the use of both students and faculty, so it was only fair. "Think of it as a hidden meeting room. I stumbled upon it sometime ago. There,"

Blaise's jaw almost dropped as a door and a whole room appeared out of nowhere. The others didn't contain their surprise any better.

Hermione smirked and made the room display the décor of an empty drawing room. "I think this room can gives you almost anything you wish for. To get in you have to pace in front of that wall three times while wishing for some kind of place, like a place where we can practice duelling. And now if we wish for table and seats…"

"Wow!" exclaimed Harry when a low table surrounded by five poufs actually appeared before them.

"We can also wish for books. We have to know what topic we're looking for, mind, so it doesn't necessarily replace the library."

"And if we wish for the door to be locked?" Theo grinned.

"Then no one should be able to get in, though I'm not sure what would happen if someone use alohomora." It would depend on how one envisioned the lock.

"Wicked!"

Hermione had to admit, she was delighted by their awe-struck expression. It was exactly how she'd felt when the room's final spells came together, another lifetime ago... But now onto their original reason for coming here: duelling.

The Duelling Club hosted by Professor Snape and Professor Flitwick only met three more times after the first one with Lockhart, but it only took them a little while to agree on what they'd learned was the right form again. Then they took turns duelling each other with only _'expelliarmus'_ like the first time Professor Flitwick taught them to, because Theo pointed out that if they ever meet Sirius Black they would probably want to dodge his spells instead of trying to block. Then they practiced casting the shield charm, because Harry argued that in case they _couldn't_ dodge, it would be safest if they could cast a strong shield than not. After that, just for the fun of it, they did a five-way, free-for-all fight using the tickling charm only.

After half an hour, even Daphne was rolling around indecorously on the floor and giggling madly. Hermione could tell that the exercise were healthy for them. In this room, there was no need to keep up appearances - no oogling from first years for Harry, and no need to project invincibility to keep people's faith for the others. Here, they were safe among friends. Just like how she'd once taken Hogwarts as her sanctuary of sort...

After they'd conjured back the tables and the poufs and played through three Nocturnes together, Hermione made her pitch. "I think we should invite a few more people to join us,"

"I second that!" declared Blaise, "This would sound better with more people."

"How about Neville?" Harry suggested. "He's also practicing Nocturnes on his own."

"Longbottom?" Daphne raised an eyebrow, "he's nice enough, but are you sure he'd be able to keep up with this? I would feel really bad if we have to tell him to leave…"

This turned into a minor debate. Hermione had no doubt that Neville would be able to keep up if he felt it was necessary. Over the last year he'd already improved from last in the class to a little above the middle. With a lot of dedication and effort, he’d managed magic above what was currently expected for his age, such as the shield charm in first year. He’d even managed magic beyond what _she’d_ thought possible for him, like the cruciatus.

But convincing the others without explaining what exactly she’d been practicing with Neville would be difficult. Besides, she wanted their group to expand their connections into the other houses, and she could always continue to teach Neville on her own.

"How about Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein from Ravenclaw?" Hermione suggested instead, "They have good grades, and I talk to them sometime in the library. And we all know Boot from arithmancy class." Goldstein apparently had the highest grade last year, ranking just above herself and Theo. Boot was not too far behind, and he seemed to be exceptionally talented at arithmancy from what they'd seen so far.

More importantly, like the rest of their group, both Ravenclaws were willing to challenge the status quo. They would work well together.

"I know Goldstein too," Daphne nodded, "I think he'd like this."

Blaise, Theo, and Harry expressed consensus, and the motion was passed.

"So that would make us seven then," Daphne smiled, "You know, if we're going to have a lair and everything we might as well give ourselves a name."

"We don't have a lair," Hermione snorted. It was one thing to occupy the Room of Requirements, but to claim it was a bit much in her opinion. "but a name would be nice, yes."

"Er… Defence Association? Since we're learning to defend ourselves against Black?"

Theo snorted. "Eh, I think 'Harry's vendetta conspirators' would be more suitable if we're going that route."

"The study party? But with a capital 'T'?"

"The overachievers-with-nothing-better-to-do-on-a-Saturday?"

"But we don't have nothing to do, Blaise…"

"I know, but I said nothing _better_ to do."

"How about 'The Nocturne Group'?" Hermione offered, "For simplicity."

"The _Nocturne Group_ ," Daphne sounded it out slowly, "that sounds mysterious."

"That sounds a bit dark," Blaise realized, "but that's ok I guess."

It sounded dark because it was. If they’d looked it up in the right history books, they would’ve found a similarly named group that operated between the tenth to thirteenth century as the primary governing body where dark arts were involved. She’d thrown the suggestion out on a whim, but a part of her was quite pleased that they were actually going with it.

"Nocturne group it is!" Theo smirked. "Mystery is nice. I mean, as Blaise said, we have a _lair_ and everything."

"It's not a lair, Blaise!"

"Hey! Fight your own battles Theo!"

Theo responded by turning his chin up and striking an amazingly haughty pose that would make even the snobbiest lordlings jealous. Blaise retaliated by wishing a large, fluffy pillow into existence right on top of his friend's face. This provoked another tickling battle since Theo had no idea who was responsible for the pillow, and soon they were all diving and ducking around hastily 'wished' obstacles to avoid the flying charms.

“Some friends you are!” Blaise tried to glare indignantly as he dodged behind the table, straining hard to keep down the smile that threatened to break out onto his face.

Some friends indeed.

* * *

Remus peered at the young bespectacled boy before him. His head of messy black hair looked particularly unruly today, Remus noticed. _'Just like James. Merlin…'_

Remus knew he was very lucky to have had good friends like them. And Merlin did he miss those days...

"Um, Professor Lupin? I have a question, if you don't mind," It was Harry himself who eventually stirred Remus out of his reminiscing. "When we fought the boggart in class, how come you didn't let me try?"

"I assumed that it would take the form of Lord Voldemort for you, and I didn't think it would be a good idea to frighten the class," Remus answered honestly. Poor Prongslet, to have to face that monster so young… _'This was not meant to be, Prongslet. You were supposed to grow up happily with nothing to worry about save homework and detentions and girlfriends at most, with your mum and dad by your side. With all of us - Peter, me, and ... Sirius... But now...'_

"I thought it would be him at first, but then I remembered that Dementor from the train." If anything, Harry looked relieved at his answer. Perhaps he thought that Remus thought he couldn't manage the boggart, the new Defence professor realized.

Remus was actually very impressed with his third year Gryffindor class. Aside from Hermione, everyone else managed to force the boggart to change shape on the first try. And even Hermione did it on the second try – albeit rather dramatically. "Ah, but this suggests that your worst fear is… fear itself. That's very wise, Harry."

"I just don't get why I react so badly to them!" Harry grumbled, "Nobody else faints around them, do they?"

"It has nothing to do with weakness," Remus assured him, "The dementors affect you worse because there are horrors in your past that other people don't have."

Prongslet nodded reluctantly. "Sally said something like that too,"

"Sally-Anne Perks?"

"Er… no. Hermione, I meant. She reads about everything."

Right. The girl whose boggart was a mirror was a good friend of Harry's then. She'd also shared a train compartment with him now that Harry mentioned it. Remus had almost forgotten for some reason. Strange…

"Professor, if dementors affect everybody, even strong wizards…"

"Yes, Harry."

"Even powerful wizards like Merlin and Godric Gryffindor and Professor Dumbledore?"

"Even more so, Harry."

"… Then somebody's got to have found a way to defend against them right? Sally said those _things_ were bothering people since a long time ago. There's got to be a sort of shield spell, or something?"

Remus smiled despite himself. "You've got your mother's brains, Harry. Truly. Yes, there is a spell, but it's very advanced, well beyond OWL level. Professor Dumbledore forbade them from entering the school, and I think the headmaster literally controls a ward around Hogwarts that stops them, so you'll be fine if you stay away from them."

"Wait, Professor you said… Did you know my mum, Professor? Could you tell me more about her? It's just…" Harry shuffled on his feet and stared at Remus's desk, "I hardly even know anything about her. All I know is from when people tell me about my eyes and from when I get too close to a dementor."

Remus was about to tell him that Lily was the best person ever, but was confused by the last part. "Dementor, Harry?"

"When I get too close to a dementor I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum."

Oh, Prongslet… Remus so dearly wanted to hug him, to protect him like he wasn't able to all those years ago, but thought better of it. _'Harry doesn't really know you, remember?'_ "Your mother Lily was the brightest witch of her time, Harry. She was such a happy girl then, and a wonderful friend," Remus whispered. He could hardly swallow the lump in his throat. "And when she had you she was overjoyed…"

Prongslet shivered, and Remus's throat seized up again.

Then Harry suddenly looked up, his eyes pleading. "Could you still try to teach me that spell, Professor? What if I end up having to pass them again? I – I don't think I can stand listening to - to –"

When he looked at him like that, what could Remus possibly say?

"Well… all right. I'll try to help. Er, maybe not today though," It was too close to the full moon. "Come by my office next Sunday?"

"Thank you Professor!" Harry brightened visibly, "I'll try really, really hard! I'm already practicing duelling with Sally and Blaise and the others, and we're teaching ourselves shield charms too!"

"Duelling? Already?" Remus found himself smiling too. Merlin, he could still remember baby-Prongslet dumping pudding into his hair! A Marauder even then… "Even your father wasn't this enthusiastic, Harry!"

But what remained of the great Marauders? Two dead, one on the run for murdering the two others, and one left to mourn the losses...

"We're preparing ourselves in case Sirius Black comes."

"Right. It's always best to be ready…" _'Why did you do it, Sirius? Your own friends? Were we not brothers in all but blood?'_

Remus must've let his feelings show, because Prongslet was watching him with a bit of concern now. Wishing Harry good luck on his noble endeavour to master duelling, Professor Lupin ushered him out of his office before sinking heavily into his chair.

_'I miss you, James. And I'll make sure Prongslet stays safe. I promise you that.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the point when Mastermind17 became this story's beta reader, so credits where it's due :)
> 
> Also, just a bit of advertising for a friend (and myself): If anybody's interested in writing choose-your-own-adventure style stories, [starcatcher.org](https://www.starcatcher.org) is a new writing community that started this March. They currently have a writing challenge for adaptations of fairy tales, so hop on over to check it out!  
> I've also posted a fanfiction about Hamlet there under the same username ([epsi10n](https://www.starcatcher.org/index.php/Member/6)). Please read XD


	6. Year 3: Chapter 6

_'Dear Tom, today was nice, although it's getting chilly outside. I got five points for transfiguring my rat into a glass goblet, and Professor McGonagall said it looked pretty good. And in Defence Against the Dark Arts we get a group project! We're supposed to research different ways of defeating Red Caps. Gloria, Rowley, and Henry agreed to work with me.'_

**_'Group project? I didn't have to do too many of those when I was a student, thankfully. It's incredibly annoying when one person comes up with all the good ideas and everybody gets credit, but you still have to put up with them to get a good grade.'_ **

Hermione smirked. Of course Tom would think so. _'Did you have to work with a lot of bad groups, Tom?'_

**_'Half the time they can't tell one end of a wand from the other, and they end up getting the same mark as me. At least the professors knew who did the thinking, though.'_ **

_'My professor told us we could choose our own groups, so that we can find people closer to our own skill levels.'_

**_'Mine did too, but I'd rather work with idiots than people who think themselves smart and refuse to listen to someone who knows better than them.'_** Then, in perfectly neat letters, **_'Besides, this way at least the people who are doing badly can learn something from the project.'_**

 _'That's so nice of you, Tom!'_ Hermione humoured him. Better unintelligent than disobedient, huh? This fitted with what she'd heard of his policy of gaining power through instilling fear and obliterating opponents. It also explained why he chose to murder his way to power rather than a quiet takeover through, say, running for Minister. But he was clearly capable of making some concessions here since he'd managed to get a few decent followers after all – like Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, and probably Tristan Nott as well. Then again, it was highly likely that he did not believe they could possibly threaten _him_.

_'Well Rowley, Henry, Gloria and I talked a bit about the project this class, and they seem pretty nice. I can't wait to start working with them! Maybe they'll even become friends with me, since we'll be spending so much time together. Goodnight, Tom!'_

**_'Goodnight, Sally.'_ **

* * *

Having taught at Hogwarts for twenty or so years, Hermione had always remembered the North Tower as a classroom for advance duelling. Hence, to see it filled with smoke and incense and half-asleep students as it was now was especially disconcerting.

They were supposed to be staring at tealeafs again, but their professor decided at the last minute that she would introduce them to Tarot cards because she "foresaw" herself teaching this topic.

"Ooh your third card is #6: the Lovers, Lavender!" Parvati was squealing, "Does that mean she's going to fall in love, Professor?"

But Hermione doubted that Professor Trelawney heard her, for the great seer herself was currently bent over Harry and Ron's table and clutching dramatically at her heart. "Death! My poor boy! I – when I saw the Grim in the tea leaves I thought desperately that I may be wrong, but- No, it's kinder not to say – "

"Why's that card even in the deck?" Harry muttered under his breath as Lavender and Parvati immediately twisted around to stare at him with wide, pitying eyes.

Ron on the other hand looked a bit uncomfortable now. "Er… Professor… Those three cards are mine, not Harry's…"

Looking obviously put out, Trelawney shuffled over to Lavender's table.

"Ok, go ahead Sally," Neville called, fanning out a deck of cards.

Hermione carelessly pulled out the second, fourth, and sixth card from the left.

"Ok so that's #20: Judgement, #18: The Moon, and #16: The Tower, all upright," Neville consulted the thick tome titled _'Unfogging the Future'_ , "It says judgement represents rebirth, or absolution. The moon represents a fear, especially due to something long hidden – an ancient secret and such. The tower is for revelation. So would that mean you have a deep secret that's going to be revealed and you're afraid? But what would the first card mean? No that can't be right could it?… Hang on 'The Tower' can also mean danger or disaster, so maybe it means you have a dangerous secret that – but that can't be right! I mean, you're like the least likely person to be dangerous... Maybe I read something wrong -"

Hermione arched an eyebrow. _'Well. That was actually surprisingly accurate, considering…'_ "It's ok, Neville, don't bother. I think I know what this means."

"Er, y-you do, Sally?"

"Yes. I think we forgot to shuffle the deck, see? The cards are all in order."

"…Oh. _Right_!"

Despite whatever misgivings she had for Divination, however, Hermione found that she didn't mind the class too much. The setting was perfect for zoning out or doing other work, and as for homework, the profound-sounding bullshit that characterized the subject could be produced automatically by a well-charmed, well-modified dicto-quill.

"What are you writing, Sally?" Neville peered over the table when he noticed the notebook on her lap.

"Don't laugh, but I'm writing a novel," Hermione answered truthfully, "It's about a travelling inventor who goes on adventures and solves problems for people."

Having started working on this manuscript a little while before the end of her second year at Hogwarts, Hermione was already nearly through the first draft. She was glad that she'd saved a record of Lockhart's self-absorbed rambling that Lockhart during their correspondence now. Self-praising it may be, but the detailed descriptions and rationales of all the measures he'd tried to ensure the popularity of his writing was beyond useful. Honestly, if the man only just wrote fiction instead of fake autobiographies he would've been famous already, but no…

"You're writing a story? Cool!" Always the first to overhear things, Seamus leaned over.

"I thought it would be a good way to make some money," Hermione shrugged. _'And a good way to send a message…'_

Because literature was one of the greatest tools of directing the attitude of a society. Perhaps this was why practically every revolution in muggle history had its representative writers, artists, and musicians. But having spent much time in bookstores like Flourish and Blotts, Hermione found that most of the admittedly small selection of wizard-authored novels were either along the lines of 'Hero slays dragon' or 'Hero discovers ancient artifact'. Neither of which encouraged innovation rather than merely repeating ancient knowledge, or taming danger on occasions rather than slaying it.

If the tension due to the issue of the Dark Arts - the collective of the most potent magicks - was to be truly resolved, she would do well to change that.

Then, there was the fact that due to limited selection of wizard novels – one would, in fact, be hard pressed to find a story less than fifty years old – children, especially muggleborns, were filling that gap with muggle literature. While this was not entirely undesirable, it does nothing for helping muggleborns understand the magical culture. It also makes the magical world more susceptible to some muggle bad habits such as sexism and the obsession with body shape - bad habits that muggles developed back before they had science, when their survival still depended on physical strength. While studying news records and trying to catch up on important events that occurred in the past millennium, Hermione had seen many evidences of powerful matriarchs and patriarchs fighting teeth and nail to keep these attitudes out, but still it was very slowly creeping into the lower echelons of the magical society.

It was in fact one of the cause of tension between muggleborns and the old families, although the "progressives" and the advocates for a warmer welcome for muggleborns often don't realize this due to the abundant prejudice on both sides. The availability of reading material that was "modern" but definitely rooted in the magical culture would help to change that as well.

And finally, there was the benefit of having a clear source of income to her own name. Although she did not necessarily expect it to be as much as what she could earn through the Silver Spindle it would finally explain why Hermione Granger had more money than a muggleborn should, giving her a bit more room to maneuver.

"Wicked!" Ron said enviously.

"Well, I don't know how well this is going to sell yet so I'm just daydreaming at the moment," Hermione pointed out, "but you know, you could try and do something too. Start a business and the likes."

"Cease the chattering, if you please!" scolded Professor Trelawnley, "Mundane conversations cloud the Inner Eye!"

Hmm. It wouldn't be a bad idea to bring her writing every Divination class. If the news spread and she was lucky, she just might inspire a few people. And it wasn't as if she actually cared about the g _rade_ for this anyways.

"I don't get this class," Neville muttered as Parvati and Lavender started to wave feverishly for Trelawnley's attention again.

"You and I both, Neville. You and I both..."

Though she did wonder, what would _Professor Trelawnley_ have said if she'd seen her hand of cards?

* * *

Remus sat at his desk, and opened yet another parchment to grade. Snape's wolfbane potion saved him from transforming into a monster every month – which he was extremely grateful for, but it had the side effect of making him feel ill near the full moon.

Salazar, it was astounding just how much paperwork could build up over less than a week.

And this morning he had to teach Harry how to cast a patronus as he promised. Prongslet had done brilliantly, actually managing to conjure a smoky patronus after two hours of patient practicing and trial and error to find a strong enough memory. He looked a little bit put out when he learned that a patronus was actually supposed to look like an animal rather than just smoke, but assured Remus that he would keep practicing until he gets it right. Remus made a mental promise to find another boggart sometime, so that Harry could have something to test his patronus against. It was as close to a real dementor as they were going to get…

But the point was, none of this did anything for the massive pile of essays to read. Remus sighed.

_'Red caps can be found in battlefields and places of bloodshed, where they hide in crevices to ambush the wounded survivors…'_

This one was another one of the "better" papers, Remus thought as he wrote _'Outstanding, and good job on the extra research'_ on the parchment. It fell slightly on the short side of the full page he'd asked the students for, but it covered all the important points and a few extra details as well. And whose work was this?

_'Hermione Granger, Gryffindor'_

The girl who reads everything, according to Harry. That explained it.

Remus was about to set the essay aside to grade the next one, but paused. _'There it is again! That funny feeling…?'_

Remus frowned. He wasn't sure why, but even from the first time he'd seen that particular student he'd been getting a strange feeling that she was somehow… different. It was as if there was something significant about her that he should know, but he just couldn't think of what. True, she was Harry's friend. True, she was consistently doing very well in Defence Against the Dark Arts (and all her other classes too, according to the other teachers). But Remus was pretty sure it wasn't either of those things, or the mystery would be solved. There seemed to be something… else, was there?

True, she was the only one in her class who didn't defeat the boggart on the first try, but was that really so strange? Strange enough that Remus would be thinking about it even now? Besides, that would imply that Remus was reminding himself that she needed extra help in D.A.D.A., when she certainly didn't. It didn't make sense.

Or was it the part where the boggart turned into a mirror? A mirror… Maybe…?

No, that was stupid. Hermione Granger was definitely human, and whoever invented the myth that vampires were afraid of mirrors was definitely a muggle. But if it hadn't been something _Moony_ smelled on her, then what?

Remus didn't know.

Ah well. Maybe he was being silly.

Breaking out of his wool-gathering, Remus got back to work on the giant pile of essays. But maybe he'd ask the other professors what their impression of one Hermione Granger was.

After all, it couldn't hurt anybody…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm travelling for the next two weeks, so I probably won't be able to update sorry...


	7. Year 3: Chapter 7

_'Dear Tom, today a strange professor showed up at supper. Gloria said one of her friends said she's the Divination teacher. She looked the part, I guess. I think she was wearing at least two shawls and at least five necklaces. And she kept pointing to things and apparently making little predictions all throughout supper. And when Filch, the caretaker, came late to supper and was about to sit down, she actually leapt up and screamed something about it being bad to seat 13 people at a table at a time! And then she refused to sit back down and left without finishing her meal! Anyways, she gave people quite a fright. Is 13 even special?'_

**_'It's been theorised that some numbers are magically significant, like 7,'_** Tom replied, **_'I don't know if any number warrants running away from supper though.'_**

 _'I hope not, because that would be annoying. I never believed in fortune telling before, but I didn't know there was a whole subject about it at Hogwarts,'_ Hermione wrote back in preparation for the question that she really wanted him to answer. _'Tom, do you think Divination is real? Can people really see the future?'_

**_'I never thought too highly of Divination class when I was in school, to be honest, so I didn't take that elective. But then again, there are well-known seers like Cassandra Trelawney in the magical world, and they didn't get famous for nothing. We should keep an open mind, I'd say.'_ **

He wasn't lying, Hermione noted.

So that was why he went after the Potters. He didn't feel prophesies were important enough to study their nature extensively, but he wasn't willing to take any chances. A great deal of caution was at play here. A great deal, indeed…

**_'But tell me about your group project, Sally. It sounds like you and Gloria are getting along?'_ **

_'Oh yes! The four of us meet for a while every day to talk about our research, and we even sit together at meals sometime.'_ Hermione wrote, _'I hope I can become as good friends with them as you and me, Tom.'_

 ** _'I'm glad you're making new friends, Sally,'_** Tom wrote in perfectly neat printing. And he seemed to be turning up the attachment-inducing charm again.

A horcrux, it seemed, can have direct control over the spells anchored on its vessel. It supported the theory that the soul fragment within the horcrux powered the magic of its enchantments. It also suggested that any extremely powerful attack should be able to overcome the shielding and destroy the horcrux, not just the basilisk venom that did it for Herpo's. _'Thanks, Tom! You're the best. Goodnight!'_

**_'Sleep well, Sally.'_ **

* * *

Late afternoon, the formerly empty hall was suddenly filled with laughter.

"You guys are good," Terry Boot nodded appreciatively as they left the Room of Requirements. "I only started learning last year."

"Same here," Anthony Goldstein admitted, "at first I just started reading about it because I was curious what the Baron meant by Nocturne, but it turned out to be pretty neat."

"I know right? That's how I felt when I first found out about it too!" Hermione offered up. She'd been hoping to bring someone from Ravenclaw into their group for a while now. Spending so much time in the library had certainly helped this cause. Terry and Anthony were both smart, competent students who she'd been fairly sure her friends in the newly dubbed Nocturne Group would get along with fine. So far, it seemed her guess was correct.

"And I love your idea of the tickle duel," said Terry, "This way we get to practice aiming and dodging, and it's really fun."

("Duels should not be _fun_! Ha!" Interjected Sir Cadogan from the wall, swinging his sword as they passed, "Duels should be deadly! Fought in the name of valour - ")

"Hey, you guys excited for the Hogsmeade visit on Halloween or what?" Blaise remembered.

"Biggest understatement of the year, mate," Harry grinned. "I'm so glad I could convince my uncle…" They'd all received permission to visit the little village. Even Harry, having carefully planned, timed, and worded his request for Uncle Vernon's signature. The reward clearly made the victory sweeter.

"My mum was a bit concerned about Sirius Black showing up, to be honest," said Anthony, "but she figured I'd be okay with the professors and dementors guarding us. Although personally, I can't say I like the dementors there too much."

"Do you think having the dementors here is really necessary?" asked Terry. "I keep hearing people say that a criminal like him might do anything, but that doesn't mean he's going to do every bad thing he can think of, right? I'd reckon it's most likely that he'd disappeared off to somewhere to live quietly. Who says he's even going to infiltrate Hogwarts anyways?"

"Most of the rumours you hear here is nonsense," Theo frowned, "but Minister Fudge said he heard Black muttering 'He's at Hogwarts' in the days before his escape. We think that's why Dumbledore's even worried in the first place. Although, there is that smear campaign theory…"

"I don't think Sirius Black is the sort of man to hide away in obscurity for the rest of his life," a new voice said, "Although I didn't think he would do what he did either."

"Professor Lupin!" Harry greeted happily.

Strange, Hermione could swear the hallway had been completely empty a few seconds ago. Lupin must've came from the secret passage. Interesting, that he should know about that one.

"Oh, you were in school around the same time as Sirius Black, right, Professor Lupin?" Daphne asked.

Lupin nodded, but did not elaborate. Though Hermione noticed he looked visibly saddened at that.

"I think they were friends once," Daphne declared not long after they parted with the new professor. Evidently she noticed Lupin's reaction as well.

"It would make sense," said Harry thoughtfully as they descended the stairs, "Sirius Black was best friends with my dad and Professor Lupin knew my mum very well – he told me when he was teaching me to cast a patronus. They were probably all in the same class."

"If you don't mind me saying, Harry," Blaise nodded sagely, "people ought to be more careful with who they trust."

"Easier said than done," Anthony snorted. "Nobody expects to get betrayed, do they?"

"True, but there's also a reason why the careful ones tend to live longer," Blaise pointed out, "but I guess you're right. Easier said than done."

"Spoken like a Slytherin," Anthony snorted again. "…But who would've thought? I mean, they were all friends once!"

Friends may move on though, Hermione answered silently. Unbidden thoughts flew back to another lifetime, to four intrepid youths fighting together for a goal so much greater than any thought possible. Such great friends, who seemed as if they'd never leave each other's sides. _'Unlike with the Potters,_ my _friends had never betrayed me, and they'd always given me help when I asked.'_

But friends do move on…

Hermione shook her head free of that train of thoughts. She was reminiscing too much again. But Anthony was right. The circumstances around Sirius Black were quite sad. And now that he'd escaped from Azkaban Lupin would be feeling at once angry, hurt and confused, she'd imagine.

"I guess that's something, huh? Anyways, we'd better go. I'm hungry…"

* * *

When Remus emerged from what used to be one of the Marauders' favourite secret passages to hear Prongslet and friends theorizing that Sirius might've hidden away to live quietly, he just had to say something.

Sirius would rather eat his own foot than live quietly. Or being thought to hide away, especially by his godson.

_'Why, Sirius? Are you really coming here to murder your own godson, as they say?'_

To be honest, Remus didn't expect to see a group of three Slytherins, two Ravenclaws and one Gryffindor with Harry. It was another one of the things he was pleasantly surprised by upon returning to Hogwarts to teach this year. He didn't think it was possible for Gryffindors and Slytherins to pass each other in the halls without throwing some hexes, and what his own friends used to do to poor Severus was unfortunately an example of this. Yet this year, all the older students seemed at least civil with each other as far as Remus could see, while quite a few mixed groups like these even formed among the younger students (although, those were rarely larger than three). Remus now very vaguely remembered Harry mentioning the name Blaise when he was talking about practicing spells with his friends, but Remus certainly didn't make the connection at the time.

James would probably throw a fit if he was to see his son's present company, Remus chuckled to himself. It seemed that Harry was a more mature person than James at this age.

"Watch where you're going, Lupin."

Remus stopped and looked up just in time to narrowly avoid walking into Severus, who seemed to be shielding a smoking goblet from the expected impact. _'Well speak of the devil…'_

"Your potion. I made a cauldron full if you need more."

"Thank you, Severus," Remus took the goblet of Wolfsbane potion, feeling extremely awkward. "Er, I really appreciate this." Really, what was one supposed to say when the person you used to gang up on became the brewer of the only thing that allowed you to live like a normal person?

Severus's lips twitched. "I do believe this is the door to your office, Lupin. Are you going to go in, or are you waiting for me to open the door for you?"

"Er, right, have a good day, then," Remus wanted nothing more than to finish this conversation that he knew neither of them enjoyed, except just ducking away would be rude. Not to mention cowardly. "Er, Severus, I've been meaning to ask you, what's your impression on a third year Gryffindor named Hermione Granger?"

Snape arched a sardonic eyebrow. "What's this about, Lupin?"

"Er, well," Honestly, Remus had just blurted out the first thing he thought of. And he'd actually been planning to start his inquiries with Minerva, not Severus. Ah, well. "it just seems to me that there's something about her that makes her stand out, and just now I passed her walking with Harry and three of your students -"

Severus's nostrils flared angrily, informing Remus that it had been the wrong thing to say. "Yes, Harry Potter is not turning out to be James Junior, is he? If you're afraid that we've been corrupting your precious –"

"No, no, that's not what I meant! I'm just curious, is all. Forget I said anything. See you at dinner, Severus."

And fled into the safety of his office. Today was really not his day.

* * *

Leaving the Defence classroom, Severus made a beeline for the dungeons. He'd really rather not interact with the mutt more than absolutely necessary, yet Lupin was actually _prolonging_ the conversation by blathering on and on!

For the umpteenth time since the start of the year, Severus silently cursed the headmaster for hiring a Marauder. Just when the idiot Lockhart landed himself in St Mungo's and he thought things were taking an upturn!

"You've delivered Mr. Lupin's potion, I notice." A familiar voice floated from the wall.

"You notice too much for a portrait, has anyone told you that?" Severus glared at the potion master in the portrait. As always, unperturbed silver eyes stared back at him.

"Not really," The figure in green shrugged and swapped two flasks. "Besides, hasn't my noticing things helped you in the past?"

That was true. Back when Severus was a student, it had been this portrait who used to warned him whenever he heard the group of four students who called themselves the Marauders plotting one of their more … targeted pranks. James Potter and his crew did eventually catch on and realize that a portrait might be snitching, but it took them nearly two years. Morons.

"If it helps, Remus Lupin didn't like the Marauders bullying you. In private he would try to convince them to stop, and suggest a general prank instead. Some of the times he succeeded."

"But he still stood by them when they were publically humiliating me," Severus countered. _'And he almost killed me in fifth year. But that was more Black's fault than his.'_

"True, he did," the Potion Master nodded. "How much you choose to forgive is, of course, up to you."

"Well, I suppose I should thank you for your preaching."

"Just looking out for a fellow potion master," the portrait waved airily. The sarcasm was completely ignored – deliberately, Severus was sure.

"Lupin was asking me about one of Potter's friends, Hermione Granger. He told me he thought there's something off about her and said he'd seen her and Potter walk with three of my students. Then he tried to pretend he meant nothing by it," Severus snorted, "He's such a bad liar he shouldn't even try." The slight inflection of surprise in Lupin's voice when he said that bit had been clear. Probably wondering how the girl managed to talk Potter into associating with the snakes, he'd imagine, because oh no, _James's_ son would _never_ do that.

Granted, it was rather hypocritical of himself, since hadn't he believed that Harry Potter couldn't possibly be any different from his father until last year?

Though, now that he thought about it, it _was_ Hermione Granger who'd somehow made friends with Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Daphne Greengrass first. So technically the wolf would be right in that she probably influenced Potter. In fact, she might even be the first...?

"Hmm," the Potion Master contemplated, "but you know Lupin has just returned to Hogwarts this year. It's understandable that he would find some things different from his old school days. He doesn't necessarily mean any ill by his surprise."

"Perhaps," Severus conceded. What was he thinking about before the portrait spoke again?

"I'd gladly preach some more, as you put it, but I have a feeling that it would not be appreciated," the Potion Master leaned over a thin vase of roses to peer at him, "Good day, Severus."

"Have fun watching students scramble up to dinner, Potion Master."

"Oh don't worry, Severus," the portrait's silver eyes gleamed, "I'll make my own plans."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!


	8. Year 3: Chapter 8

_'Dear Tom, it was very frosty outside today. The last leaves were shivering on their branches, and the wind was chilling to the bones! I saw two squirrels dive into a hole in a tree stump this morning. It was almost as if they needed each other to weather the cold.'_

**_'I suppose, conservation of heat and all, since they cannot wield a wand and cast a warming charm. It's pitiable, really.'_ **

_'And instead the poor critters have to rely on a companion, don't they?'_

**_'Exactly. I've always felt sorry for those poor creatures out there that couldn't take care of themselves.'_ **

_'Me too, Tom… It's still nice and warm in the common room, though. Everyone's working hard on the project these days. I think Lady Ravenclaw would be proud of us. Did you know we actually have a statue of her watching over us in the tower?'_

**_'I've heard something like it from one of the Ravenclaw prefects once, actually. It's a nice place you've got.'_ **

_'I wonder if there's something of the other founders in the other common rooms. Have you seen a statue of Slytherin in yours, Tom?'_

**_'No, I've never seen one of him anywhere. How is your project going, by the way?"_ **

_'It's been really fun so far! We've been doing some more research today. Rowley found five more books that might be useful, and we haven't even finished going through the ones Gloria and I took out last time yet. We're going to have loads to write about!'_

**_'Good luck with that, then, Sally. You know, you can also feel free to ask me if you need any help.'_ **

_'Thank you so much, Tom! I can't believe I almost forgot that you're a genius! I'll be sure to ask you if I think of anything. Goodnight for now, Tom!'_

**_'Goodnight, Sally.'_ **

* * *

"So Snape thinks that Lupin thinks something's off about me?"

Portrait-Salazar nodded, and ignored the chuckling of Portrait Godric on his right. "I don't believe Severus knows why. We should hope that I managed to distract him before he thinks too much on it."

In her Chamber, Hermione had just received a debrief from her portrait self about their new Defence professor. Remus Lupin was apparently an undiscovered werewolf since he was a first year – explaining why the boggart turned into a white orb for him, she supposed. Dumbledore had somehow ensured that he could transform each month without coming into contact with any students. He, like James Potter, was a part of the four membered trouble-making group that Portrait-Salazar had often observed. Unfortunately, the Marauders were not only pranksters but also bullies, and their favourite victim happened to be a young Severus Snape. They used to use the passage guarded by her portrait self quite frequently – understandably, since it was one of the four primary passages that lead straight to the entrance hall – but eventually stopped since Portrait-Salazar had gotten into the habit of muttering warnings to Snape as he passed. Hermione had raised an eyebrow at this, as she didn't think the Lupin she'd met seemed the type. But people could change with time and circumstance, obviously.

Hermione frowned. Despite her… puzzling boggart, she'd given no reason for Lupin to be extraordinarily curious about her except…"Something must've gone wrong with the obliviation."

The memory removal of a very particular portion of, but not the entirety of, a shocking event did tend to be the most difficult. Especially when one had to obliviate two people within two seconds. Some of Lupin's surprise might've remained even though he no longer remembered her patronus. That, coupled with the fact that certain magical creatures have a subconscious reaction to the magical cores of "threats" in their vicinity, may have been enough to incite Lupin's curiosity. "I suppose Lupin is asking the other professors about me, then. Do you think Lupin will forget about it if his inquiries turn up nothing unusual?" She asked the portraits.

"Most likely. Assuming that you didn't give him too much to go on, there shouldn't be a problem if no one else shared his opinion."

Hermione steepled her fingers. "McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and the others should be fine. The most they'd say would be that I'm very well learned. Binns probably won't even remember there's been a 'Hermione Granger' in his class. Filch has no reason to believe that I was the invisible entity that Mrs. Norris nearly noticed sometimes. I would prefer that he doesn't talk to Dumbledore, but he probably won't go that far. The only one who might be a problem, I think, is…"

"Severus, yes," Portrait-Salazar steepled his fingers as well, "But Lupin already asked him and wasn't very well received, so I doubt they would talk again. I think you should be fine, unless we get very unlucky."

For now, it was just something to watch out for. But just in case it doesn't all blow over, now was also a good time to make sure she'd have a plan.

Remus Lupin … The soft-spoken professor really was a trouble maker.

"Tell me more about the Marauders?" Hermione asked.

"Ah, Moony, Padfoot, Wormtail, and Prongs. I only knew them by face and nicknames at first since that's how they address each other, but Moony was Remus Lupin and Prongs was James Potter. I suppose Sirius Black was either Padfoot or Wormtail, then, if he was best friends with Potter as they say. I never learned the name of the fourth boy either."

Hermione reminded herself to find a wanted poster of Sirius Black to "introduce" to Portrait-Salazar sometime.

"Oh, I've seen them come down to the kitchen to pilfer food often enough as well," said Portrait-Helga, "They remind me of the four of us."

"Except we had a much better ending than they did," Portrait-Rowena observed.

Portrait-Helga sighed happily. "We were perfect, weren't we? If only all friendship were like ours! It's too bad history got it all wrong. Sal getting driven away from Hogwarts over a falling out – pheh!"

"A lot of people try to attribute things to emotional causes even when there's none," Portrait-Salazar shrugged, "But I'm glad we finally had that detail cleared up last year, Sal."

Hermione nodded, staring into the lukewarm, perfectly controlled green flames in her stone fireplace. "Right. And everything else is progressing smoothly as well."

"You know, you could sound a little happier, Sal," Portrait-Godric chuckled, "This should be a lot of accomplishments in two years even for an inhumanly ambitious git like you. Let's see, you've already cleared your name. Your legacy is already steering back to what it's meant to be. Your magical training is coming along quickly, especially since you're growing up a little faster with time turning. And you're gradually getting on your feet finance-wise too. Didn't your store already break even?"

"It's to be expected, since we've just caught the fall shopping season and I really haven't invested a lot of gold there. And tomorrow I should have the business with the book settled as well," Hermione confirmed. "I'm very happy about that, believe me. I'm just thinking…"

Just now she'd been visited by an … indefinable feeling that was not entirely unfamiliar. What was it? It felt almost as if she was standing in a tall tower, observing the world below through a spyglass. And missing something important, but so very subtle...

"We'll keep an eye on Remus Lupin for you, if that's what you're worried about," Portrait-Rowena promised.

Was it something to do with Lupin or Snape that she'd been thinking of? Or Sirius Black, perhaps? Or perhaps it was a figment of her imagination. Perhaps she was merely on edge because of the dementors nearby.

Hermione bade the portraits goodnight. Maybe she'd sleep on that one.

The next day saw the much anticipated Hogsmeade visit. Harry and Ron were happily discussing what to buy at a sweets shop called Honeydukes even as they joined her at the Gryffindor table for breakfast. Fred and George were muttering about stink pellets. Neville was speculating about the Shrieking Shack, and wondered if they could see it together.

Maybe, Hermione had said, but she had to meet someone first.

The establishment called The Three Broomsticks was easy enough to find. At ten o'clock, Hermione carefully weaved among the diners until she came upon the tall woman who seemed to be just settling into the corner booth. "Good morning, Madam LeBlanc. My name is Hermione Granger."

The editor of Whizz Hard Books blinked with surprise. It seemed that whatever she'd gathered of 'Hermione Granger' from their correspondence, she was not expecting a thirteen-year-old.

"Pardon me, dear," Madam LeBlanc shook Hermione's hand, "I had thought you were a little… older, is all. I can see now why you asked to meet in Hogsmeade. Generally authors would come to our office."

"I understand that, madam. Thank you for agreeing to this arrangement." Hermione smiled respectfully. She could've met her in Diagon Alley, but she would have a harder time explaining herself later. Besides, she already knew Madam LeBlanc liked her manuscript from their letters.

"Oh it's hardly any trouble, dear," Madam LeBlanc's gaze softened a little, "you'll find that travelling becomes much easier after you get your apparition license. Er, a mulled mead for me please, Rosmerta,"

Hermione ordered a glass of gillywater for herself. Taking out her wand and setting up a sound dampening charm, she noticed Madam LeBlanc watching on with approval.

It would be a careful balance that she'd need to strike: a precocious child, but to be taken seriously. But still a youth nevertheless. Almost like asking for the three Master Peverells' apprenticeship again, she smiled to herself.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think a refreshing story like yours will be fairly well received if we sell it right," said Madam LeBlanc as she leafed through the carefully bound manuscript. Thus, the next hour or so was spent discussing ideas for promotion, after which the sharp-looking editor seemed quite impressed. Hermione herself was impressed that Lockhart's rambling had once again proven useful. It seemed the time she'd spent on him last year was paying off more than she could've hoped. Fortunately, none of these things involved the author making an appearance at first since, ironically, Madam LeBlanc wanted to "play up the intrigue around your identity. We should let your classmates figure out who wrote this book before we disclose your age," nodded the editor decisively, "With luck, rumours will start brewing and we can throw it out there as a shocker by confirming it."

Then they moved on to Hermione's idea for the book cover, which she'd actually hired a muggle to partially design over the summer. The artist didn't even bat an eye at the title, _'Journal of a Wandering Mage'_ – it was fiction, after all.

"Your 'Wandering Mage' is a strong, likeable character – good, good. Is there a reason why you named her Stella Leiter, I wonder?"

"It means 'star' and 'guide' in Latin and German respectively. I thought it sounded like an interesting name for a traveller." _'And hopefully a guiding star is what she'll be.'_

And finally there was the matter of royalties, and the signing of contracts. Madam LeBlanc perhaps felt a little guilty about driving the bargain too hard, so Hermione ended up with a decent deal. "Best of luck, then, Miss Granger," said Madam LeBlanc after they paid the bill and shook hands again to depart, "Your payments will be deposited to your Gringott account."

Since her original vault was … rather inaccessible even for goblins, Hermione had opened a new account for all future money transfers. And the convenient thing about business in the magical society was that since many people were eligible to use more than one family name, contracts keyed directly to the magical signature. It actually didn't matter legally which name one signed with ink as long as it wasn't someone else's. Hermione smiled charmingly. "Thank you, Madam LeBlanc. It's been a pleasure."

As Hermione made her way out of the crowded pub, she noted that Professor Lupin, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick seemed to be having a fine time.

* * *

With a mug of butterbeer in hand, Remus was looking forward to a relaxing morning. Himself, Minerva and Filius had volunteered to escort the students to Hogsmeade this time. Merlin, he used to look forward to these visits as much as these children do. Hogsmeade visits for the Marauders had always been a time to replenish their stock of everything – chocolates, prank materials, alcohol, etc. James had always maintained that with their map and his invisibility cloak they could always come back covertly anytime they ran out, but it was still nice to do things properly.

But as a professor he had little to do in Hogsmeade now, and Minerva had suggested that they might as well make camp in the Three Broomsticks until it was time to go back. This option actually appealed to Remus more. It would be nice to catch up with his two favourite teachers from his own school days.

Just this pub itself filled him with nostalgia. How many times had he, James, Peter, and Sirius clinked frothing mugs of butterbeer, laughing over something or the other, in their usual corner booth…?

Today the corner booth was occupied by a surprising pair of people.

"… and when you've had the misfortune of assigning detentions to the Weasley twins, you'd know how we felt watching out for troublemakers like youself, Mr. Lupin," Minerva was saying, "Remus? Something on your mind?"

Remus smiled apologetically. "Just noticing Miss Granger's … associate." Remus knew that The Three Broomsticks was used as a setting for business lunches sometimes. And thus it was not entirely strange for students in higher years to be seen shaking hands with well-dressed strangers – good quidditch players meeting with scouts, most commonly. But one rarely see a third year student signing what seemed to be a contract with a stern-looking grey-haired lady, right?

"That's the editor from Whizz Hard Books," Filius squeaked when he turned in the direction Remus indicated. "Madam LeBlanc. I've met with her a few times about textbook matters."

"I wonder what business she has with Miss Granger?" Minerva set down her goblet of mead. "She's a very precocious lassie, that one."

"I've noticed," said Remus. And since they were on that topic, "Do you ever get the feeling that something just seem to set her apart?"

"Well of course," Minerva looked as if Remus had asked whether the sky was blue today, "she has the one of the highest grades in her year, and this year she's taken an interest in a wide variety of electives. Her essays are also generally well composed and well-reasoned. One of the brightest witch of her age, I would say."

"Yes, she reminds me a little of Lily in that regard," agreed Filius, "she has a clear talent in charms, and she always takes time to help her classmates as well."

"That's certainly true," Remus nodded. But that was all they noticed? Then what was that strange gut feeling about, then? Nervousness about teaching acting up?

Minerva and Filius then started to discuss the Head Boy Percy Weasley's endeavours to find a career opening in the ministry, so Remus put the matter out of his mind for now. Soon it was afternoon, and once Remus went and purchased some chocolate from Honeydukes it was time to take the students back to the castle. The Halloween feast was grand as Remus remembered, and seemed like the end to a perfect day.

That is, until he encountered a few frightened Gryffindors on his way up to his quarters. The Fat Lady's portrait had been slashed, and Peeves's cackles only scared the assembled students more.

Sirius was back.


	9. Year 3: Chapter 9

_'Dear Tom, it was very cloudy today. We all thought we were going to see the first snow of the year, but then it cleared up by the afternoon. Henry, Rowley, Gloria and I think we have enough notes now, so we decided to start organizing the information today. It turned out that we have enough pieces of parchments now to cover the whole table! We even ended up burying the inkwell somewhere in the pile. Rowley insisted that I had it last, but I remembered giving it to Gloria so it should've been on their side of the table. We only found it when Rowley accidentally knocked into it with his elbow! It's a good thing Gloria caught it before it spilled everywhere.'_

**_'Rowley should've checked around himself more before insisting anything.'_ **

_'Oh no it's ok! Nobody was actually mad about anything. It was kind of fun, actually. A bit like fishing.'_

**_'Ah, I'm glad to hear that. It's always easier to work with people who are cooperative.'_ **

_'That's true, Tom. By the way, the hint you gave me about Red Caps' normal habitat was very helpful! I can't thank you enough, Tom!'_

**_'It was my pleasure. Sally, you didn't tell anyone who gave you the idea, did you?'_ **

_'No, Tom, I'm sorry I thought about it but I just couldn't! If they found out about you they'd ask to see you, and I...'_

**_'Didn't want to share?'_ **

_'I guess. You must think I'm really selfish.'_

**_'It's ok, Sally. I'm relieved that you didn't tell anyone about me, if anything. I just remembered that if some people know that you have me, they might take me away from you and I won't be able to talk to you again.'_ **

_'I won't let that happen, Tom. I'll be extra careful to keep you hidden and everything. Goodnight, Tom!'_

**_'Sweet dreams, Sally.'_ **

* * *

"So Sirius Black tried to break into your common room today and slashed the Fat Lady when she wouldn't let him in?" Blaise was gobsmacked. After an ashen-faced Professor McGonagall had inexplicably appeared with a large crowd of Gryffindors in tow, all the professors had gone to search for Sirius Black. All students who had yet to leave the Great Hall had been ordered to remain there and wait for the all-clear signal.

The whole school had, of course, immediately sidled over to the only people in the room who had any idea what was going on.

Harry nodded. "Professor McGonagall thinks we might have to camp out down here for the next few days, now that our tower is not safe anymore. Peeves was positive that Sirius Black did it… He could be lying, but he never actually _lied_ before, right? That's what the professors thought, at least."

True, now that Blaise thought about it. For all the trouble Peeves went through to trick, mislead, and generally cause trouble, people generally trusted the poltergeist to maintain some semblance of truth when questioned outright - especially when questioned by the right people. "Then… Black is really here to try to do you in? All that nattering about security and danger – it's all true then? Salazar…"

They stared at each other. For the first time this year, they were properly scared. True, the general population had been freaking out about Sirius Black since the summer when he broke out. Even they had almost casually thrown around guesses about Black's homicidal tendencies in the Nocturne Group's not-lair - but _they_ had always believed in the back of their mind that it was just could-be's, erring-on-the-side-of-caution, or paranoia blowing things out of proportions. But now they had actual evidence of Black's presence and intentions, despite all the dementors and heightened security, and the professors still couldn't find him…

"Looks like it," Harry shrugged for a lack of better things to say. "But I don't get it… Why'd he try to break into our common room now, when he knew I'm probably going to be down here having dinner?"

"Trying to stage an ambush, maybe?" Daphne suggested, "I wonder what he was thinking, though. Did he think he could just march up to your entrance and demand to be let in? That would be stupid!"

"All we know is that the risk of Harry getting killed this year has increased," muttered Theo, "it's like the bucking broom incident all over again."

"I guess I should try not to go off alone, then?" Harry sighed, "Sirius Black… We know so little about him! All we know is that he used to be my dad's best friend but then he went bad. _Why?_ Why did he do it? And he, what, blames me for his getting sent to Azkaban?"

The days that followed saw the Nocturne Group digging tirelessly in the modern history books and the old archives of the library to answer those questions. Blaise felt terrible for his friend. Harry seemed to be taking this ordeal fairly well, but to have a powerful and possibly deranged wizard out for your head, and being able to do nothing about it… True, they'd started training themselves in defence and duelling, but none of them were crazy enough to think they could actually take on someone of Black's calibre. All Harry could do, and all they could do for Harry, was read, research, and try to understand.

The research took a lot of time, but for something so important (it was a matter of a friend's life and death after all!) Blaise hardly cared. Even Terry and Anthony, who were as studious as the next Ravenclaw, gladly sacrificed the largest part of their weekends to the cause. If anything, the quest to find out what kind of madman was currently lurking about Hogwarts drew them even closer to the Nocturne Group's original five. Sometime Blaise could imagine that in ten years or so they, seven friends together, would be able to accomplish _anything_.

And he hoped to Salazar they could survive Sirius Black now. All seven of them.

* * *

The first weeks of November was… an interesting time, in Hermione's opinion.

After the portrait that guarded the Gryffindor common room had been damaged, it had been arranged that Hermione and her housemates would sleep in the Great Hall until further notice. And when such extreme countermeasures were taken, the attempted invasion of Gryffindor Tower certainly didn't go unnoticed. The whispered name of "Sirius Black" was on everyone's lips and took precedence over all other topics of gossip – even the upcoming "first Quidditch game of the year". Paranoia was abound, and some younger students could even be heard rehearsing what to say to beg for their lives. Fred and George planted a number of "Black traps" near the common room – which, despite their lack of success at stopping the wanted wizard, seemed to be doing a fairly good job at trapping just about everybody else. There were still some who doubted, but Hermione had later asked Peeves in private only to hear more or less the same message. Peeves had also told her quietly that Sirius Black had begged the portrait, insisting that he "isn't going to hurt any student" but "only wanted to punish the little git who was responsible". It was yet another puzzling piece of information in this whole Sirius Black business.

Nevertheless, some good did come of Sirius Black's revelation of his presence. Against the imminent threat, the bonds within the Nocturne Group consolidated all the more, and was well on the way to becoming something that would last long after they each make their way into the world. This was especially important. When she'd just started out she'd enabled the formation of this group as a way to influence her wayward students, but each member of the Nocturne Group had been drawn together for their potential. That, and their willingness to break the status quo. She could easily see each one of them becoming a leader in their field, and if they could stay together they could do so much more.

They could guide the magical society to move forward. Spearhead advances and changes for the better. Catalyze new paradigms of thoughts that were sometimes long overdue. A revolution, even... or maybe a reawakening of sorts.

In time, she would see to it that they were cultivated to their considerable potential.

But for now, Hermione followed them. She walked with them to the Room of Requirement for their regular Saturday duel, then to the library to research the infamous Ven. Mr. Black. Then down to the Great Hall for supper, then to the library again, and finally to the landing of the grand stairwell to bid each other goodnight. The loss of privacy in her sleeping area meant that she must modify her time turning schedule slightly and add a "bathroom trip" to her evening routine, but it was a marginal hindrance. The sleeping bags that Professor Dumbledore would conjure for them nightly were warm and adequately cushioned, though it was certainly not the most comfortable arrangement. Her trained instincts kept alerting her that the cocoon-like bag would lock her body in a vulnerable position.

Thankfully, she'd eventually managed to convince her subconscious that it was safe to fall asleep. After all, since no one - save perhaps certain goblins - really knew her history yet, the chances of something happening to her here among all these students was miniscule.

Her sleep that night was accompanied by fragmented dreams of towers and spyglasses…

* * *

"No, Severus, I will not assume the duty of the temporary guardian of Gryffindor Tower," said the Potion Master with the tiniest hint of a smirk, "I have no interest in opening doors for rambunctious children all day long, and I am already guarding a passage here."

Severus shrugged. "Well it's worth a try. All the other portraits are afraid of Sirius Black. The only one who agreed so far is Cadogan, and McGonagall has… reservations about him."

Yet another no. Severus privately thought that perhaps they should just hang Cadogan up and be done with it. The knight did seem to take the guarding of a tower against "scurvy curs" seriously enough, and the teachers would no longer have to take turns watching over students in the Great Hall nightly.

The Potion Master slid aside, and Severus ascended the narrow stairs to relieve Flitwick from his shift.

"Severus!" the charm professor almost bounced to the exit when he saw him, "All's well so far. No sign of Sirius Black, obviously. I'll be off now! Hopefully there hadn't been trouble in the Ravenclaw tower…"

A room full of sleeping students was no place for prolonged conversation, so Severus simply nodded and made his way through the rows of students toward his usual seat at the high table. Perhaps he'd light a dim flame and finish reading the latest publication from the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. There was no point attempting to fall asleep. He still found it amazing how anyone could sleep in one of those conjured purple sleeping bags …

Severus stopped. He thought he'd felt something brush the hem of his robes.

Was that… a ward?

Severus looked down to see the top of Hermione Granger's face nestled behind the quilted fabric. He must've passed a little too close to her head when he turned the corner. A ward, Severus thought with some amusement.

It wasn't unusual for students to shield their sleeping spaces, he supposed. In fact, all Slytherins above year two were expected to ward their own bedrooms if they wanted a lockable space. But Severus thought even they probably wouldn't bother to ward a sleeping bag that would be gone the next morning.

Seeing no harm in it, Severus stooped down to move his hand through the air near her cranium. There was indeed a bubble-like shield – a tangible one against pressure and puncture, it seemed, though there could be others. From what he could see of it without waking her, it was quite decently cast.

And was that the tip of her wand just beneath the opening of the bag, covered by a tussle of curly hair? That crazy auror Moody would certainly approve of this one. Constant vigilance even as a third year, and not half bad at duelling either…

…?

_It just seems to me that there's something about her that makes her stand out, said Lupin._

Severus's brows furrowed subconsciously. He was loath to admit it, but he could somewhat agree with the wolf now.

It wasn't really anything that Severus could put his finger on - yet if one really thought about it, Hermione Granger was unusual in a multitude of little ways. Like going to sleep with the bedtime habits of a war veteran, although it was a general best practice, really. Like sustaining a duel with Severus for twenty minutes, although Severus _was_ holding back. Like brewing commercial grade potions every class, although the ones they were currently studying were still fairly easy as long as one was careful. Like becoming good friends with three Slytherins despite being muggleborn, although she was hardly the first to do so.

And it was her friendship that catalysed a revolution in both Slytherin and Gryffindor house, although to be fair, that was mostly the work of luck and circumstances. The strength of Mr. Nott, Ms. Greengrass, Mr. Zabini and... Mr. Potter also couldn't be discounted. But it still stood that others either tried and failed or never let their associations see the light of day, while hers not only survived but _won_.

All of these unusual things combined together made for a not impossible, but highly improbable person.

Normally Severus would be reminding himself not to overanalyze, as he often had a tendency to do so. Yet, a small part of his mind was also reminding him that he was not alone in his curiosity…

But he really shouldn't be hovering over students in the middle of the night. It was creepy by anybody's standards. The magazine, then. He'd been trying to find time to read the article about a newly discovered property of asphodels since last week.

But when he made it to the head table, Severus couldn't stop his eyes and mind from straying back to the sleeping form of Miss Hermione 'Sally' Granger and her highly improbable ward.

Maybe he really did have a mystery on his hands...


	10. Year 3: Chapter 10

_'Dear Tom, we worked on the first draft for our project in the library again. Then I found a chapter in a book about something called "Dementors", and we got distracted for a while. Tom, did you know there are monsters out there that eat your soul?'_

**_'I've read about them in my studies. When they catch very dangerous wizards, Azkaban sometimes sentence them to the Dementor's Kiss. It's a fancy name for getting your soul sucked out.'_ **

_'But what is a "soul", Tom? People talk about it all the time, but what is it really?'_

**_'From what I understand, your soul is the essence of who you are. Your body is really just a container that lets you interact with the world, but your soul is what's really you. It's the thing that can become ghosts when people die. So when dementors eat your soul, they've effectively killed you.'_ **

_'That sounds like a whole new way to die! Are there other things that can destroy your soul too?'_

**_'Other things? Some people made guesses, but souls are very difficult to study. None of those are actually verified, you see. I'm sure there's nothing you'd need to worry about.'_ **

_'I'll just stay away from dementors, then. But apparently there's a way to defend against them, though. We looked them up today. The books say a wizard can drive them off with something called a patronus.'_

**_'True. It's a charm that's made specifically for pushing away dementors, and takes the form of a silver animal figure.'_ **

_'Did you learn to cast it, Tom?'_

**_'No – at least, not when I was in school. I've read that it's a very difficult spell. They don't even expect you to know it for NEWT.'_ **

_'Oh yes, I've read that most wizards can't cast a proper one. Some people can almost do it, though. Their patronus just comes out like a silver mist.'_

**_'Well, I guess it would be better than nothing? Still better not to get a dementor after you at all, though.'_ **

_'That's true. I wouldn't want to meet one of them… Say, Tom, what happens to you if your soul gets damaged?'_

**_'Well, like I said, without your soul you're effectively dead. I imagine your body would just lie there, heart beating and all but without anyone to give it commands. Well, until it eventually rots with time.'_ **

_'I see… Thanks, Tom! Goodnight!'_

**_'Goodnight, Sally. Glad I could help.'_ **

* * *

The weather had been frankly quite awful this November, and today was no exception. Thick storm clouds loomed overhead and bombarded the grounds below with fat, freezing raindrops, while whipping wind added to the effect. And then there were the dementors.

 _'At least they inspired a good conversation topic with Tom, my_ dearest _heir,'_ Hermione thought. Currently, one of her hands was holding her binoculars up to her eyes. The other rested on the marble of the gallery that overlooked the Quidditch pitch, ready to call the vinewood wand in her sleeve on a moment's notice. The dementors seemed especially excited today, and hovered even closer to school grounds than usual. With her lenses she could even make out the tattered trail of their robes and their claw-like limbs.

Below, perhaps due to dementor influence, the enthusiasm of the crowd gathered to watch the first Quidditch match of the year seemed to be dampened somewhat. Still, the Gryffindor captain Wood had been ramping up the anticipation by griping about his "last year to win the Cup" for weeks. On the Slytherin side, (very accurate) rumours had it that a new game plan was in the works – although any further details naturally remained undisclosed. But whatever it was, it was big enough that even Theo had chosen to sit out in the stands today rather than from their usual window. She could see him and the rest of the Nocturne Group among a mixed group of Slytherins and Ravenclaws.

The stands filled, and the cheering continued.

"WELCOME TO THE MOMENT WE'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!" Lee's magically amplified voice yelled from across the field, although it had to try quite hard to compete with the whooshing of wind. Moments later, the two teams all but struggled into the middle of the field where the two captains shook hands. And Hermione once again marvelled at the sheer dedication people were willing to devote to a sport.

At least none of them seemed to be getting overly wet. The Nocturne Group had practiced the waterproofing spell, _impervius_ , extensively just last week after Anthony had developed an appreciation for the spectacle created by an overpowered _aguamenti_. She assumed that at least some of the older students would know the charm well enough to cast it for their teammates.

"And the game has begun, with GRYFFINDOR IN POSSESSION! Bell passes to Spinnet, who passes back to Bell – but she's got to watch out, because Flint is on her tail and closing in! Spinnet passes to Johnso – BUT MALFOY WAS IN THE WAY! THE QUAFFLE BOUNCES OFF MALFOY'S SHOULDER!"

Something that sounded like a cheer floated through the howling wind as the Quaffle dropped down several meters into Adrian Pucey's waiting hands.

"Pucey races down the court. Johnson and Bell hurry to intercept from above, and they're catching up!" But just then, a green missile in the form of Draco Malfoy shot across their path, forcing the girls to swerve up to avoid a collision. "Pucey flips the Quaffle up – SLYTHERIN SCORES!"

"Montague in possession, and passes to Flint – and meanwhile Malfoy seems to be hell bent on disrupting the Gryffindor formation!" Lee continued to comment. Indeed, while Harry circled above and peered intently for the Snitch, Draco was weaving in and out through the other players. "Now believe it or not, ladies and gentlemen, this is actually a legal move. And if Malfoy's doing what I think he's doing, I'd say Slytherin is trying to replicate the monumental but extremely unorthodox World Cup victory by the Irish in 1894! But does Malfoy think he can pay enough attention to the Snitch at the same time?"

Hermione scanned the stands, noticing happily that this was turning out to be the most peaceful Quidditch game she'd seen since arriving in first year. There was plenty of shouting as always among the audiences, but no jeering, boos, or thumb-downs. The Slytherin team in turn seemed to change strategies from calculated rule breaking to more subtly using the rules to their advantage. And the commentary was almost unbiased for once!

Then the crowd gasped, and Hermione realized that Harry had entered a deep dive. "And WAS THAT THE SNITCH?" Lee shouted.

"Potter dives, but Malfoy is quick to follow! He's almost caught up now – faster, Potter!"

Draco was nearly at the tail of Harry's broom now. Both Seekers' expressions were set to one of concentration. As they were nearing the grass Draco's eyes widened, and he started to ease out of the dive. Harry turned sharply upwards half a second later.

 _'Huh?'_ Hermione frowned, before realizing what probably happened. Really, she was quite proud of them both. Even with her limited knowledge of Quidditch, it was clear that Draco had improved dramatically from last year. Clearly he'd put in a lot of time and effort to train his skills even during the summer – a far stretch from the snooty kid he was in first year. Meanwhile, Harry was being positively devious today as well…

"Wait. Why did they both pull back? Had the Snitch – Oh! THERE WAS NO SNITCH, ladies and gentlemen! What you've just witnessed was a spectacular demonstration of the Wronski Feint by Potter! Fooled us all, he did! But it seems Malfoy saw through the game just in time!"

The cheering only grew louder as the match continued. Harry had resumed his search for the Snitch. Meanwhile, the Malfoy heir grinned a little – not a smirk, but a true, proud smile – before returning to his zigzag through the Chasers' game as well. But every once in a while, one of them would break routine and Lee would hasten to guess if the Snitch had appeared for real or otherwise. Before long, Draco had nearly maneuvered Harry into the path of a Bludger twice, and Harry had nearly made Draco crash into the Slytherin beater. Twice Harry had taken off in pursuit of the Snitch with Draco scrambling to catch up on the other side of the field, but both times the Snitch got away in a flash of gold among the haze of the rain.

In the end, it was pure chance that both Seekers spotted the tiny golden ball at the same time. It was in the center of the field, and they immediately dove toward it from opposite sides. Harry was just a tad faster, but Draco was just a bit closer. The rest of the players clearly had to fight the urge to stop and watch as the two Seekers closed in, arms stretched as far as they could –

Harry's hand closed around the Snitch, while Draco's fingers fell just short of brushing its wings.

"INCREDIBLE! It was an extremely, extremely close race, but Potter caught the Snitch!" Lee announced breathlessly as Harry raised his hand in victory. "But it seems Malfoy's disruptions had paid off - Despite Gryffindor's Seeker bonus, Slytherin's tremendous lead of 160 to 10 means that… the match is tied? THE MATCH IS TIED, after a stunning Seeker's battle almost like in the professional games! Gryffindor and Slytherin come out of the match with 160 points each!"

Down in the stands, the audience was ecstatic. People chanted a plethora of things while Harry flew over to Madam Hooch for her to verify that he touched the Snitch first. But as she scanned the scene below through her lenses, Hermione suddenly felt an uneasy premonition. She was neglecting something, something bad… and it was about to happen soon -

Even as she finished the thought, the sky darkened impossibly. And hundreds of dementors poured _onto_ the Quidditch Pitch.

Her wand was out in an instant, half concealed in her sleeve and half gripped tightly in her hand. Her mind raced through ways to help the students below without revealing her patronus. She _begged_ in her head for Dumbledore, who she knew was in the stands, to drive off the dementors before anyone could come to permanent harm. She was fairly sure he'd handle the situation, but if this went on she'd eventually have to do it regardless. _'A spell that plunges the field into total, impenetrable darkness should conceal it, though a dark spell like that would make Dumbledore suspicious for sure…'_

The cheering quickly gave way to terrified screams. But though they surely revelled in it, the dementors seemed to drift closer and closer to a single person in the sky. Harry. Beside him, Madam Hooch looked ready to fall off her broom herself.

Harry's mouth formed the words "Expecto Patronum!", producing a wisp of smoke that held the dementors back for about three seconds. But fortunately by then Dumbledore's silver phoenix had appeared, and the dementors dispersed with the looming darkness. Harry and Madam Hooch shakily drifted to the ground, where the rest of the team had fled to when sky first began to dim. Hermione calmed her own heartbeat and slid her wand back into its holster.

Crisis averted, it seemed.

She'd better head for the hospital wing then – they'd take Harry and Madam Hooch there just to be safe, she presumed. The Headmaster had stormed off the pitch to have a word with the dementors, but he'd probably check on Harry when he returns as well. Really, she'd deduced that Harry was taking some sort of lesson with Lupin, but she hadn't expected him to manage to cast a patronus already. Harry probably had a talent for maintaining high mental focus, then. _'Not a bad skill to have. It would make him less susceptible to spells like imperio and confundus and maybe even obliviate. Though it might give him a bit of trouble with Occulumency - '_

Wait. She thought she saw… Or was it just nerves? Hermione kept walking. The hall appeared to be empty now, so it would seem that she was mistaken.

But if someone really had been watching her, then all the more reason to act as if she didn't know. They'd make themselves known soon enough.

* * *

Severus quickly flattened himself against the wall of the little alcove he'd been standing in – taking care to ensure that he would not be visible from the window or the hall. He did _not_ want to be seen and accused of spying on a thirteen-year-old.

Fortunately, _not getting caught while spying_ was an art he'd mastered quite thoroughly.

He'd merely been absentmindedly passing through at first. He'd never kept up really well with all the Quidditch games, although he did give the scoreboard a quick glance to see how the Slytherin team was doing. Then he'd spotted _that girl_ , and before he knew it he'd already settled himself five windows down the hall.

In Severus's defence, he hadn't been watching Hermione Granger the entire time. He only leaned out to glance at her once in a while, reading her expression and gauging her reaction, in between watching Potter and Malfoy's odd battle of trickery (or strategy, he supposed). She'd clearly followed the game, but she'd seemed mildly pleased throughout the entire game despite Gryffindor's low score count. No matter who scored, no matter what the seekers happened to be doing at the time, the small smile on her lips had never grown or diminished.

Strange. Severus would almost say she didn't care at all about the outcome of the match, or even which house would win the House Cup. Even Severus, who was the definition of apathy when it came to Quidditch, used to feel at least somewhat happier when Slytherin won and slightly disappointed when Slytherin lost while he was in school. Even now, he'd felt a slight relief when he saw that the goals that Slytherin team scored made up for losing the Snitch – although it could've nearly been a landslide victory, which would've been great too.

And then the dementors had moved in. Severus had thought at first that perhaps they'd spotted Black nearby – but then he'd gradually realized that they seemed to be drawn to Potter instead. He'd drawn his wand, his doe patronus beginning to form at its tip, but then he saw that Dumbledore had already driven them off. No need to butt in and draw attention to himself, then.

But when he glanced at Granger again, she was putting away her wand (up her sleeve, an interesting choice) as well. Her expression seemed to be sliding from one of tensed concentration into one that was somewhat relaxed and more introspective. Severus also saw concern, curiosity (?), and plenty of relief.

 _'But not fear, not panic…'_ At least, from the glimpse of her face he'd caught just a fraction of a second before her features shifted. _'I can almost say her face looked more in line with a hitwizard before a kill than a terrified spectator.'_

But that, coupled with the drawing of her wand, would make a huge difference… Did Granger believe she could actually do something to help keep the hundreds of dementors off her friend?

Severus didn't know what to think.

* * *

Remus breathed a sigh of relief when the dementors scattered into the slowly clearing sky. Why in Salazar's name did they go after a student? That was _entirely_ unsanctioned!

He zeroed in on Harry with his binoculars, hurriedly checking the long-suffering boy over. He was shivering and looked terribly pale as he slowly guided his broom downward, but fortunately he appeared to be alert. _'He did it! He actually managed to cast a patronus in front of dementors!'_ Remus had tried to help, but to his shame he'd been so overwhelmed by the sight of hundreds of dementors surrounding the last connection he had to his old friends that the patronus wouldn't come for a moment. It was lucky that Albus was here. Once again, the Headmaster had managed do what no one else could.

As he followed Harry's movement downward, however, Remus saw something – or rather, someone. Severus was looming over one of the open arches in the gallery that ran between the towers. He, too, was looking at Harry, but his eyes kept flickering to the side in an odd way. Curious, Remus traced his gaze along the gallery… _'Hermione Granger?'_

_'Had Severus been watching her? He had, hadn't he? What's going on here?'_

Remus had rushed down to the field to help take Harry and Madam Hooch to the hospital wing after that. But once he returned to his office to catch up on grading papers, the question just kept lingering in his mind. Finally, Remus decided to go down to the dungeons and catch Severus before supper.

"Enter - Ah, it's you. Well, what is it? I'd have thought that Dumbledore or McGonagall would floo call me if they wanted to fetch me for something."

A part of him yelled that it was an awful idea.

_'But I have a right to ask. Any student in this castle is my concern as well!'_

"Er, no… I have a question for you, Severus. I saw you at the Quidditch match today. Why were you – ah, studying Miss Granger so closely?" Damn, that sounded wrong. "Er, I mean –"

Severus's head swivelled to face him so quickly that it was a small wonder he didn't break his neck. "Says the one who has been interrogating all the professors about her."

Remus fought the urge to drop his gaze to his shoes. He will _not_ be chastised by Severus.

But instead of attacking him further, Severus merely stood and paced to the window to stare into the inky depth of the Black Lake. The water outside was especially turbid today because of the storm, Remus noticed. "I think you're correct, Lupin. There _is_ something about Hermione Granger that's not like the other students. We're the only ones who notice."

 _'So it's true, that strange gut feeling!'_ "But I have no idea what."

"And neither do I."

"So what now? Should we ask Albus?"

"Do _you_ want to do the honour of explaining why we're so extraordinarily interested in a third-year? No, we inform Albus only if there's a security risk."

"A security risk! Surely you don't think –"

"I didn't say I think there is one. I was merely expressing that it would be pointless to take this to Dumbledore at least as things stand. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm heading up for supper. Unless you wish to stay around in my office by yourself –"

And with that, Severus swept out of the room, leaving Remus to follow in his wake with equal measures of newfound clarity and confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malfoy's quidditch skills shaped up a lot since his attitude improved.
> 
> Dementors sure are troublesome, right?


	11. Year 3: Chapter 11

_'Dear Tom, today was pretty sunny, and the sky was the purest shade of blue.'_

**_'Ah, yes. The view from the Ravenclaw common room must be great. You lot are lucky to have claimed the second tallest tower in the school.'_ **

_'Oh yes, Tom! On clear days like this, you can see everything - the rolling meadows, the dark forest, the shimmering lake and all. It almost feels like the whole world – every corner of it - is laid out before you.'_

**_'With nothing above and everything else so small beneath your feet, right? I can imagine that. It's the best feeling there is. I think some of the muggles would say this is what God would see every day.'_ **

_'It must be great to be him, then.'_

**_'Exactly.'_ **

_'My project is almost complete now, and I think it's going to turn out brilliantly. I don't think I've ever felt so proud. We considered so many different angles, and I'm almost positive we included things that no one else thought of! Gloria can't wait to hand it in. She's a bit impatient at times, but Henry always manages to calm her down. Rowley doesn't care as much – just put him in a library and he'll be happy.'_

**_'I'm sure you did great, Sally. It sounds like you worked harder on this project than anybody else would.'_ **

_'Of course, how can we not do well, with all your help? Thanks again, Tom.'_

**_'It was my pleasure. Anything to help a friend.'_ **

_'Oh, you're the BEST! Goodnight, Tom!'_

**_'Goodnight, Sally.'_ **

* * *

Hermione's book, _'Journal of a Wandering Mage'_ , didn't appear on the shelves of Flourish and Blotts until the very end of November. Since then, however, it had been making slow but steady progress into the hands of the population. "I'm thinking about getting that book for my son for Christmas. He loves the adventure stories. Ah, but who can blame him? He's a curse breaker in training now," said Mary happily as the small crew at The Silver Spindle hustled to ready the shop for the winter shopping season. Demand for ball gowns had already gone up, after all.

"Is it any good?" Asked Timothy from behind a large sheet of floating velvet that was in the process of rolling itself up.

"Oh yes, I've only skimmed through the first chapter at the bookstore and I'm already hooked." Mary assured, carefully dressing the female mannequin in the display window in a sleek, silver gown that shimmered like snakeskin. "You know what, I think Joseph won't mind if his Mum takes a read-through first."

Mary winked, and Timothy chuckled. "I might see about getting it for my daughter too, then. She's always complaining about getting bored of her old books."

"Well, there's only so many times you can read _'Babbity Rabbity'_ , y'know? Now what should tomorrow's weather be? _'Thunderstorm'_ or _'Misty night'_? Or maybe _'Starry sky'_?"

" _'Misty night'_ I think. We seem to be going for smoke and mirror with this pair," 'Sandra Homer' finished adjusting the billowing black ensemble around the male mannequin's shoulders. The simulated ambience in the display window was a modified and scaled down version of the enchantment in Hogwarts' Great Hall. She was glad she had that stroke of inspiration last month. It worked wonders in attracting the attention of passers-by on slow days.

" _'Misty night'_ it is, then," Mary turned the knob. The display window immediately dimmed, and thin grey smoke slowly began to swirl around the two figures. "What are you getting your kids, Sandra? How old are they again?"

 _'My what? Oh...Let's see...'_ "My little boy flew the nest just last year."

Saying _that_ out loud felt _so_ weird. And she hadn't even thought about what her imaginary son should have a passion for yet…

But _'Sandra Homer'_ would be expected to gush about her cozy home and loving marriage. _'Sandra Homer'_ had to be a doting mother of sweet, angelic children. So _'Sandra Homer'_ kept up a wide smile and rambled. " _Much_ too early, if you ask me. But a boy – no, _young adult_ , he _insists_ \- wants his independence, so what can you do? But my niece – well, second cousin-once-removed, really - is still going to school, and she's like a daughter to me."

"Does she also go to Hogwarts?" Timothy asked, "My daughter's in first year, Hufflepuff. Maybe they've met each other."

"Ah, maybe in the halls. My niece is in third year, Gryffindor."

"I know, I know, dear," Mary patted her arm, "We parents always hate to see our children go. Ah, it's inevitable, I guess. But aren't they just the sweetest little dears when they're younger?"

That sounded like most of Helga and Godric's letters... "Ah, yes. Some up and downs occasionally, but absolutely sweet overall. Say, I wonder how kids will react to our new display."

Mary turned back to examine the display window, but Timothy chose this moment to joined them as well. "No truer words. Some days they keep you up at night and make your hair go grey, but when they run to you and say, 'Daddy, I love you _this_ much,' it's all worth it."

Alice sighed, with just the slightest undertone of wistfulness. "I want a family like yours,"

Hermione fought the growing urge to duck her head. Never had she felt so much as if she was intruding on something she had no place in, save once! 'Sandra' would have no problem showering Alice with her sympathies, along with copious, meaningful advices. But Hermione was drawing blanks. Could this conversation get any more awkward?

"Well, you're still twenty-five," Mary said comfortingly, "There's plenty of time! I didn't meet my dear Winston until I was twenty-seven. You'll find the one for you in no time."

 _'Come on, Sal. Just respond as Helga would!'_ "Oh, for certain, my dear. Everyone finds love eventually."

"Exactly," agreed Timothy, "fortune can be a bitch sometimes, but I'm sure it's not so unkind as to deny us poor mortals a bit of companionship."

"You really think so?" Asked Alice.

"Of course! Things always sort themselves out." It was clearly what she expected to hear. _'And I bet she's already getting pretty serious with someone, and she's getting impatient for him to pop the question. That's probably what brought on all this drama in the first place...'_

"Well, I do have a boyfriend. We've been together for three years. But these days I'm not sure if he's the one for me anymore. Well, I mean, I know I love _him_ , but I don't know if he feels the same about _me_ anymore. See, three years and he hasn't said anything about wanting to start a family with me yet. Isn't that weird? I mean…"

_'..And there we go.'_

As Alice vented her concerns to Mary's sympathetic ear, Hermione took the next opportunity to excuse herself and apparated back to Hogwarts. Honestly, sometimes she felt as if the people she worked with were of a different world entirely, and she was one of those imposter from the muggle alien movies.

Which was technically true in many ways, she supposed. The switching from avatar to avatar, interacting with each group of people through a skin crafted for the purpose, sounded exactly like what she'd been doing.

Esmeralda was not in, and seemed to be in the antechamber holding court for the other serpents. Her portrait was off somewhere more interesting as well, probably either watching the dungeon entrance or eavesdropping in the headmaster's office. Alone under the high, vaulted ceiling of her stone underground Chamber, Hermione stripped off the heavily padded 'Sandra' disguise and chucked it unceremoniously into a corner, but she suddenly didn't feel like returning to her _fellow_ students just yet. And was it just her, or was it rather cold around here? Maybe the climate control charms in her Chamber needed tuning?

She would take a look at that later. For now though... perhaps a hot bath? Hermione shuffled in the nude across to the adjacent bathroom, and sighed in contentment as she slipped into her marble bathing pool. Call it procrastination, but the inviting warmth of the water against her skin was such a welcomed luxury. If she lay here for long enough she could almost feel the warmth seep all the way into her bones, chasing away the minute chills and aches that she'd only just noticed.

Thin tendrils of white steam drifted lazily around her, gliding over her shoulders like phantoms, and she was reminded of the display window she'd just decorated.

What she'd heard today in Diagon Alley was highly favourable. Her book was gathering interest, and was being considered for the upcoming gift-buying season as hoped. Meanwhile, The Silver Spindle itself was becoming quite well-known. Even today they'd tailored and charmed three dress gowns for two clients with fairly prominent family names, one upon recommendation from his friend. Hermione could safely expect a number of the Spindle's creations to appear at the Yule dinner parties this year.

Stone by stone, step by step, she would raise herself back to the height at which she once stood. Her financial progress was substantial, and her social influence expanding. She had already fixed much of the legacy of her first life, but she still fully intended to make history a second time.

Meanwhile, she had learned much about her troublesome hazard of an 'heir'. Voldemort believed in full self-reliance. Dependence on anything other than one's own power, like the two squirrels sharing body heat, was a weakness. He dabbled in soul craft but had little regard for the health of the soul, at least partly due to scepticisms about soul theories. Instead, he was _very_ concerned about physical death to the point where he would devote large amounts of energy to remove anything that may cause his own, scepticisms or not. He had a clear god complex coupled with a disturbing lack of morals. And he was surprisingly sentimental for some reason. This information should aid her greatly in the eradication of his person, his power base, and his influence upon the magical world. Now that she knew more about him, the way he chose to direct their conversations had become arguably more informational than the content of his words. The next step would be to find out how exactly he'd intended for this horcrux to manipulate a student. Let things go his way, reveal an opportunity for possession, and see what he does. And then the diary would've served its purpose.

And finally, the new generation of wizards and witches was shaping up to be quite promising. In her mind's eye she could see the Nocturne Group as the tip of a spearhead, one that was gradually sharpening with guidance. Already their influence radiated outward, drawing in others who offered either strength or support. She had little doubt that once this spear launches into the world, it would make big waves in the right direction.

Yet she was getting that strange feeling again… Feeling, dream, image, whatever...

What exactly _was_ it that she was missing? Just what hidden pitfall, or concealed threat, or critical action had she neglected, whose impact on her future success warranted so much warning from her subconscious?

The question followed her to her bed – er, sleeping bag - that night in the form of those familiar dreams of towers and spyglasses, and then to the breakfast table the next morning.

Whatever it was, it must be something in the tangled web of circumstances surrounding Lupin, the Marauders, and Black, mustn't it? It had to be - it was the only unsolved mystery she'd encountered, right? Somewhere in that mess was a dire threat to short term safety, then? If Voldemort was involved, it was not impossible.

But this meant that unravelling the mystery must now move higher in her list of objectives. The Nocturne Group had researched Sirius Black for over a month now, and she could see them becoming increasingly frustrated by the lack of information. It turned out that despite his infamy, available records of Mr. Black were pitiably scarce. "Possible sightings" of Black was plenty, but descriptions of his criminal history in circulation was vague and, aside from warning the public that he was a very dangerous mass murderer and an ardent supporter of You-know-who, provided no additional information. No testimonials of grieving victims were found, although the determined researchers did discover plenty attributed to his cousin Bellatrix Lestrange. A search for the proceedings of his trial before incarceration turned up nothing. In fact, prior to his escape from Azkaban, the only negative mention of Black in the papers that they'd discovered was a short statement of his arrest – and even that was crowded into a tiny side column by the joyous news of Voldemort's defeat on the same day.

The Nocturne Group had been surprised by the fruitlessness of their search, and upon discussion decided that much of the business was probably being kept confidential for either some ongoing auror investigation or some personal gains. If that was the case, then they'd better find a different way of finding information, as the public domain would probably only disappoint.

"Sally!" Two voices interrupted her thoughts in unison. Looking up, Hermione soon found herself accosted by the Weasley twins. Her mind elsewhere still, she greeted Fred and George with the standard "good morning" and started to turn back to her plate. But then she saw their unusually serious and determined faces, and paused.

They wanted something, it seemed.

"Mum saw the poster for your book in Diagon Alley last week," Fred said, "congratulations."

"Thanks, guys. I do hope people will like it."

"On that note, we actually wanted to ask you for a favour, Sally," said George, "See, Fred and I feel that we've sponsored Gambol and Japes and Zonko's for too long. We're going to start a joke shop of our own and sell our own products."

"But it's going to take money," Fred continued earnestly, "We can't get a loan from Gringotts, because Mum will just chew us out for the whole idea. So we were hoping that you could, well, lend us some to start off. We'll pay you back as soon as we make money, promise!"

"We-ell…" As another side effect of having income under her own name, Hermione was gradually becoming pegged in the school as the kid with the most pocket money. As far as her classmates were concerned she surpassed perhaps even Malfoy, who would still have to run his slightly larger purchases by his parents first. So far this recognition had shown up mainly in the form of several people declaring an increased expectation for Christmas gifts, but this was something new. "Have you developed any products?"

"Not yet, but we have a bunch of ideas. If we can get some fund, we'll be able to buy supplies this Christmas break and start prototyping right away."

"How much do you think you'll need?"

Fred and George looked at each other. "Well, the supplies would probably take about two hundred galleons, and the smallest storefront cost at least five hundred..."

"I can probably afford to give you one hundred galleons if you can meet me sometime during the holiday in Diagon Alley to collect it. We can see about giving you more by the end of the year," Hermione offered. One hundred galleon was a fairly optimistic estimate of royalties she could make before Yule, but that was alright. She would not lament its loss too much even if she'd gravely misjudged the twins' chances. "But I'll want a ten percent share of your future profits instead of my original one hundred galleons back."

They considered. "Five percent," George said, "and we'll show you the secret to our success at undetected mischief making in our whole career as pranksters at this school. Come on! We know you'd put it to good use. Don't pretend you aren't tempted!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. They were going to show her the Marauders' map of the school? "Ten percent, you show me this 'secret to your success', and I'll show you a spell I've read about. It'll let you get away with buying most of your non-magical supplies only once and save a lot of money." Besides, she knew they were probably ready to accept anyways.

"Deal," Fred agreed.

Hermione shook hands with both Weasley brothers, and taught them the spell called _geminio._ "With this spell you can replicate a non-magical item as many times as you want. A piece of sweet, for example. But take care, because edible things will still go stale."

"Aw, I've already heard of a spell like that! I just didn't know what it is!" Fred complained.

"And I already know you have a way of telling where people are in the castle," Hermione shrugged.

"What?! How did you - bloody little know-it-all..."

"Anyways, behold!" Fred declared, and produced a blank parchment under the table. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

"We found it in Filch's drawer when we were in detention once," George whispered. "It's a map of the school that shows the name and location of everyone in the castle. Splendid, huh? And it has all the secret passages, too! Well, maybe not all. You disappear from the map sometimes, Sally."

"I know two passages that are not on here," Hermione admitted. _'And a couple more too, but who's counting, right?'_ "Oh, but I didn't know there's one that goes to Honeydukes! And what's this one here?"

"Don't try it. The Whomping Willow's on the other end."

Suddenly, Hermione's eyes caught on a name in the Gryffindor tower. Everyone else had gone down for breakfast by now, but this person still remained in the boys' dormitory. "Who's still in bed at this hour?"

Fred gave a surprised laugh. "You don't know Peter Pettigrew? But he's in your class, Sally! Look, this is the third year boys' dormitory."

"But I'm not surprised you don't notice him much," George shrugged, "he skips class all the time. Lazier than Ron, if you ask me."

Hermione frowned. She didn't consider herself a social butterfly, but she didn't think she was so neglectful as to completely ignore the existence of a classmate for three years.

But it was only later that day, while using one of the castle's secret passages, that she realized why Pettigrew's name was so strange to her, and discovered something extremely ...interesting .

Whoever this Peter Pettigrew was, he was on the Marauder's Map but not on her own.

* * *

"There, see? She's disappeared again."

Remus followed Severus around the corner. Sure enough, the hall was empty.

Remus could swear, on his father's grave, that he and Severus hadn't been following Hermione Granger around the school. It was merely that they now paid more attention whenever they chanced to see her in the halls. Especially after they realized that they'd somehow managed to "lose" her in an unbranched hallway more than once.

"One of your secret passages?" Severus asked.

"There's nothing in this hallway." And he remembered the Marauders combing this particular hallway for secret entrances very carefully for its, er… strategic location.

So either Hermione found passages that the Marauders spent years searching for, somehow was able to disillusion herself _perfectly_ and for some unknown reason, or simply vanished. None of the three seemed within the capabilities of a third-year student. Or a student in general. Or most wizards and witches, come to think of it.

 _'This is evidence, then.'_ For the first time, there was something solid than confirmed his gut feeling. Something beyond speculations and merely somewhat _unusual_ occurrences. He knew there had to be something about her, something _big_.

Now the question was, _what_?


	12. Year 3: Chapter 12

_'Dear Tom, we finally handed in our Red Cap project today. Rowley, Henry, Gloria and I all but skipped down the halls in celebration! I'm so glad we had this project. It's really brought the four of us together, and I think we've become great friends. Oh, but what should I get everyone for Christmas? Gloria might like a broom servicing kit, although that's got to cost a fortune. I'll get Rowley books, definitely. And for Henry, I think… maybe sweets? Or a planter? I can't wait to go to Diagon Alley!"_

**_'I'm… well… I guess I'm glad you're happy, Sally.'_ **

_'Oh, Tom… Don't be sad! You're special, and I won't ever forget you, promise!'_

**_'I'm very happy to hear that, Sally. You won't… throw me away like Ginny did, right?'_ **

_'Never, Tom! I need you. No one can replace you, I promise!'_

**_'Thank you, Sally! And how was the rest of your day…'_ **

* * *

After the discovery of the mysterious name Peter Pettigrew on the Marauder's Map, Hermione ended up spending much time pondering his identity. It seemed like she now had a second mystery on her hands. A search of the school records from the Room of Requirements did turn up a former student with mediocre grades and a long list of detention records. Yet, all students – present or former – should appear on her map once they enter school grounds, but Pettigrew did not.

Why was Pettigrew tracked by the Marauder's Map but not hers? Had the Marauders included a separate set of tracking spells in their creation, then? Had "Pettigrew" simply been a prank, a name placed there to confuse future pranksters?

And disregarding the prank theory, how did Pettigrew manage to stay in the third year dormitory? He certainly was not a current student, yet he must've moved up through the dormitories with the third year boys if the twins thought he was in her class. Obviously none of his "dorm mates" noticed him all this time, or he would've been reported long ago. Was he invisible?

But it was very nearly Yule before she gained any headway toward this mystery.

It turned out that the last Saturday before students depart for Yule was to be a Hogsmeade visit. Some storefronts were decorated so flamboyantly that Hermione wondered if the shopkeeps had received a heads-up from the professors. But whatever they did, it seemed to be working. The children were beyond thrilled.

"Is anybody staying at school this winter?" Harry asked as the Nocturne Group seven took a grand tour through Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.

Blaise, Daphne, and Theo shook their heads.

"I think I will this year," said Terry, "I have to catch up on some reading. What about you, Sally?"

In the past two years Hermione had opted to stay at school. Now, however, to stay would probably mean to contend with Professor Lupin and Professor Snape's watchful eyes. "I'm going home," Hermione declared. Although, she did not say which.

"I'll be going home too," Anthony, who had been attempting to tickle her with the plume of a particularly large flamingo feather quill, paused. "Dad wants the whole family to spend the holiday with my grandparents in Canada."

"A vacation, brilliant! My Mum's taking me to Italy too," said Blaise, "but we'll pop back for the parties, of course."

"How many balls are you lot going to this time?" Harry wondered.

"Let's see… Malfoy's holding one, as always. There's also Avery's this year, and Gaius invited us personally so we might as well go." Daphne ticked her fingers, "And my Mum's hosting this winter too, but she hardly lets me invite anybody our age so I don't even know if there's any point in me showing up."

"Actually, Daphne… Madam LeBlanc mentioned something about introducing me to some people during the holidays. I think she means to bring me along to your family's party as her guest. Would that be alright?" Might as well mention this now. That she was on friendly terms with Madam Greengrass's daughter had been part of the reason why the hard-faced editor dared to invite her, after all.

"That would be brilliant, Sally! And here I thought I'd have to hide upstairs all evening," Daphne sighed dramatically. "Anthony, if you actually end up buying that ludicrous thing you will drop in my esteem like a drunk elf!"

"Of course I'm buying this!" Anthony waved the pink quill merrily, "Guess what your Yule present's going to be. Now, where's the shopkeep…"

Blaise took one look at the line-up and suggested that some of them might as well find a booth in the Three Broomsticks while they wait. And so, Harry, Blaise, and Theo were elected to go and try to get them a table for seven, while Hermione, Daphne, and Terry were left to try to talk Anthony out of getting the quill (unsuccessfully). "But Sally, you might actually get famous from this – at least here at Hogwarts" observed Anthony as they left with his purchase, "The whole school must know about your book now after that poster in front of Tomes and Scrolls. Especially since everybody already knows your name from what happened… you know, last year."

The girl who got trounced by Snape at the duelling club, right.

"It's a pity the duelling club never started up again this year. Guess they're just too busy watching out for Black," sighed Terry. "That's one more reason to wish for Black to be dealt with as soon as possible. But at least we're learning pretty well for ourselves."

"Yeah, and we're already doing the best we can for both of those things," Daphne nodded. "C'mon, let's see if they managed to find a table yet."

But when they arrived at the Three Broomsticks, their friends were waiting for them at the door. They had not gotten a booth, they declared, but they'd got something much better.

"Information!" Blaise revealed happily, "Would you believe when we walked in, the first thing we heard was Fudge telling Rosmerta about Sirius Black?"

"The minister's here?" asked Terry.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, and they were sitting near the door, and there wasn't a chance in hell we'd let this go, so we pretended we were just waiting for some friends to come out and hung around to listen. We had to come back out or they'd notice us."

"We finally have details on Mr. Black's crimes!" Theo elaborated in a low, excited voice, "The Minister said Harry's parents were under a ward called the Fidelius Charm, a spell that was supposed to hide their home from You-Know-Who as long as the one person they chose as secret keeper didn't snitch. They made Black their secret keeper."

"Three guesses what he did with that privilege," Blaise chuckled humourlessly.

"And that's not all!" Harry added, "Remember how your parents said Black blasted his other best friend to smithereens? He knew about the Fidelius plan, and went to confront Black as soon as he heard what happened to my parents! But Black just killed him and laughed! They caught him at the scene, and Minister saw the damage himself. It was awful!"

"He really is deranged, then," Anthony frowned with worry, "Who in Salazar's name _blasts_ people to death? Even a cutting curse would've been cleaner, and just as effective!"

"He must've done it because he enjoyed it, I guess," Theo reasoned, "the Minister said there was a giant crater in the middle of the street and blood everywhere!"

"And the biggest piece of Peter Pettigrew they could find was a finger!"

_'…What?'_ Peter Pettigrew was dead?

"This Peter Pettigrew is…?" Hermione ask. She needed to clarify.

"My dad's other best friend. The one who was killed by Black in the middle of a muggle street."

"I see…"

"So what do we know now? Black was secret keeper," Harry mused, "which means for sure that he intentionally let You-Know-Who know where my parents were."

"Unless You-Know-Who figured out a way to break the Fidelius," Theo interjected. "But that's probably unlikely, even for him."

"And we know that Black is a sadist," Terry added, "and he was arrested for killing a wizard and how many muggles?"

"The Minister said it was very hard to count," muttered Blaise.

_'More interestingly, Pettigrew is apparently dead. But he has been seen on the Marauder's Map for the past two and a half years. But he doesn't appear on mine, which connects fully to the castle wards.'_ One explanation would be that Peter had returned to the school as a ghost, since his soul and magic would have then been too altered for the school wards to trace. The other ghosts – Baron Edmund, Professor Binn, Peeves, Myrtle and the rest – weren't tracked by the school wards either. Were they on the Marauder's Map too? She hadn't thought to check then.

But how then did the Marauders manage to tag Peter's ghost, especially since enchanting a ghost with anything was notoriously difficult? Two of the Marauders were dead and one was in prison by then, so Lupin must've done it? But even if he could, _why_? What was the _point_? It made no sense.

More information was needed. "Is there any way we can talk to people who actually knew Sirius Black personally?"

"I don't think that would go over very well," said Blaise, "I mean, in today's climate, asking if someone was close to Black is almost like asking if someone used to know You-Know-Who. Nobody will admit to it. We know McGonagall and Flitwick taught him, but we've already kind of heard their perspective."

"Actually, I can think of one other way," Daphne tapped her chin, "People might not want to talk about Sirius Black, but if Harry asks them about his dad and friends... they won't really refuse, right? I can try to get Harry invited to my Mum's Yule dinner, if that's okay with you Harry. I doubt she'd say no to you – I mean, you _are_ the Boy-who-lived."

Harry looked a bit conflicted, Hermione saw. On the one hand, he felt guilty about using his privilege to get benefits that others wouldn't have. On the other hand, nobody else had a mass murderer hounding them down for revenge either… "I'd like that, but I don't know anything about going to dinner parties."

"Well, I guess a crash course is in order," Daphne solemnly prescribed, "Oh, and Sal, you might want to come too. If you don't mind me saying, you're doing an impeccable job but you do sound a bit old-fashioned sometimes."

_'That I probably do…'_ "I'd appreciate the help, Daphne."

"Not a problem, Sal! To the lair!"

Hermione ran after them, mentally adding another piece to the puzzle of Sirius Black. It seemed that this party would be even more interesting than she'd expected.

* * *

Ninth seat at the bar, behind the Christmas tree that stood near Minerva's table, Remus nursed his mug of butterbeer. It wasn't his turn to supervise the students today, but his stash of chocolates was getting short.

It had been incredibly awkward, sitting through that conversation about James and Sirius and Peter. Not many people had actually read that sliver of article twelve about Sirius's arrest, he suspected, but he did. And what a shock it had been! Albus had suspected that someone close to them had turned coat, but Remus hadn't really believed it in his heart until … well, it happened.

Now, listening to the minister describe the gruesome scene that surrounded Sirius as he was taken away, laughing, it felt as if another knife had been shoved into his back.

How could one of the people that once meant the world to him turn out to be such a monster? Who would've thought? Remus still clearly remembered saying, in sixth year, how meeting Sirius and James on the Hogwarts Express was the best thing that happened to him. Now, he wished he'd never known Sirius at all.

Perhaps, Remus thought, the smartest people in the world would never have let themselves grow so emotionally attached to anyone. They would have enough self control to make sure they'd never suffer the pain of a betrayal. But Remus did not. He supposed that'd been how he ended up doing the dumb thing.

But it was not all bad, was it? Fate took James from him, but it left him with little Harry. He'd seen Prongslet with his little group of friends at the door earlier as well, but they seemed to have ran off. It was nice to see him so happy with his peers. Even now, he was still impressed by what a remarkable group of people they were. He'd been teaching them long enough that he knew all of their names now. Blaise, Theodore, and Daphne in Slytherin, and Terry and Anthony in Ravenclaw. And in Gryffindor there was Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. The mystery girl.

How _did_ she manage to vanish like that? He couldn't make head or tail of her, and neither could Severus it seemed. He almost wished he still had that Map the Marauders made back in school, so that he could at least see where she went. Ah well.

Maybe he'd go exploring for some new secret passaged over Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost half way through the year! I just suddenly realized that I'm running out of buffer chapters. Currently I have the story written up to the end of year 3, but year 4 is coming along slowly lol
> 
> I'm posting my writing progress on my [Starcatcher account](https://www.starcatcher.org/index.php/Member/6) as I sloooowly write up more chapters, so check it out if you're interested in how far I've gotten in the story! They have a wall post feature that's almost like microblogging so it's pretty convenient for me


	13. Year 3: Chapter 13

_'Dear Tom, everyone went home for the holiday, so I'm all alone in the tower. The castle feels so empty now. Everywhere I go is so quiet… And here I am, with only parchment and the echo of my own footsteps off the stone corridors for company._

_Henry, Gloria, and Rowley all wrote back to me, but I still kind of miss the time we were all working together. Tom, they meant it when they said nothing would take the four of us apart, right? They would still care about me, now that they don't really need me for anything anymore?...'_

* * *

The students had gone home for the holiday, and Hermione had apparated straight back to Slytherin Castle from a discreet corner of the train platform. Yule had come quickly enough.

Owls circled the tower that housed the lord and lady's chamber when Hermione woke on the midwinter solstice. From the vantage point of her bed, she could see that some of them had already dropped off their load on her nightstand and were merely resting before their next journey, while others still had envelopes tied to their legs. None of them would remember the location of the castle once they departed the grounds, of course.

Hermione padded across the cool stone floor to relieve the remaining owls of their burdens, and couldn't help but smile wryly at the familiar sight. Every holiday was like this in the final fifteen years before she'd departed her first life. Most of her mail then had been from sycophants. Some had been from more mutually beneficial acquaintances or business associates. And then there would be the three that she'd await most eagerly…

Helga would send "a hundred hugs and kisses" with a detailed update of happenings at the school, and gush about the antics of her children and grandchildren. Godric would jape about beating Salazar's house at Quidditch – he and Rowena had both still been at Hogwarts then. Rowena would share newly developed incantations or magical theory. And Salazar would provide political news, and sometimes a broad description of whatever scheme he was working on at the time.

Sometimes they invited him for visits, either at the school they built together or at their respective homes. Salazar nearly always went.

Hermione carried the armful of envelopes to her nightstand and began to open them. A couple were from classmates she'd only spoken with in passing, asking if _Journal of a Wandering Mage_ was really hers. There was Mum and Dad's, and Hermione smiled at the great time they were having in France and their congratulations for her novel. She _had_ made sure to disclose that she could finance her own education now, even though they couldn't know the details. There were parcels from Blaise, Daphne and Theo, owl-ordered packages from Harry and Terry, and a funny-shaped item from Anthony. Lavender, Parvati, Neville, the Weasley siblings, greeting cards from some of the third year Slytherins that she was closer to… And finally, a letter from Mme. Leblanc wishing her a happy holiday and agreeing to pick her up at the publisher office for the Greengrass party. She'd better prepare for that early, including a mental checklist of everything she'd like to try to accomplish there –

Why, that ridiculous inarticulable idea, still?

Always a high tower, with solid walls and an unobstructed view on all sides. Always a spyglass to observe the world, near and far as much as she pleased… And always, _always_ , that feeling of something missing. _Incompleteness_.

_Why?_

Hermione suppressed a sigh, and paced out to the balcony. The flock of owls had already crossed her garden of roses and was disappearing into the distance in various directions.

Looking at this a different way, what was the significance of a tower? A prime vantage point. A defence feature. A mechanism for broadcasting, like a lighthouse or a bell tower? A display of might, to awe one's allies and enemies alike?

Or a prison…?

Did she feel she wasn't doing enough, didn't have enough freedom to act? But why, when her influence was expanding as planned? That couldn't be it!

Or was it helplessness she felt? But she didn't think so, when she was sure she had everything under control. Even Professors Lupin and Snape's extraordinary interest in her. Even the Sirius Black-Peter Pettigrew mystery. Sure, she hadn't solved it yet, but she was about to acquire more information, she was giving the situation her due attention, and she was far from _helpless_.

But she'd been found crying in a tower once, according to Baron Edmund's ghost. He'd said…

Ah, what was she thinking. She was becoming too distracted! Having access to a time turner didn't make it acceptable to waste time pondering vague emotions. There was plenty of work to be done, especially today.

Heading back into the depth of the tower, Hermione dressed herself in a muggle coat and toque. Then she apparated to Diagon Alley to mail off replies to certain letters and meet the Weasley twins. They'd looked slightly surprised when she handed them two copies of a contract outlining the agreed-upon terms in writing ("Madam Leblanc said you always have to sign contracts when you do business"), but they did know to infuse their signatures with magic so that it would become legally binding. Her next stop was her underground Chamber at Hogwarts to check on the school through the portraits and the wards, and to maintain 'little Sally's' correspondence with the horcrux. It seemed Tom had caught on to the bait she'd presented him, and was now starting to use a plethora of false assurances and "unintentional" letdowns to try to build himself an opportunity for possession - which was interesting. Then, it was time to put on 'Sandra Homer's' skin and flowery shawl and check in with the Silver Spindle. She'd promised to be present for a few hours during the days for the holidays, so that she could at least meet her customers herself.

But when afternoon came, Hermione styled her hair into a basic up-do and changed into a simply cut black dress with just enough green detailing to avoid the label of generic. The goal of this costume had been to dress just well enough to fit in among the adults, but still keep to the image of a young girl. Neat but not fancy. Somewhat memorable but not attention-drawing.

"Ah, Hermione! You look lovely in that," Madam Leblanc praised when Hermione arrived at the publishing office.

Hermione nodded her thanks. In truth, the older witch had already preapproved her outfit two weeks ago, not quite trusting her to judge its appropriateness for herself.

"Now, dear, remember: This isn't exactly a party for fun. I'm going to introduce you to some people first when we get there, and then you can go off to enjoy the food."

"I understand, Madam Leblanc," Hermione agreed obediently, "I'll stay with you first, and then I'll go look for Daphne." _'And leave you to do your business undisturbed.'_

As for herself, there were three things she'd wanted to do at the party. The first was, as she'd agreed with Leblanc, to interest the "newspeople" enough to secure interviews. The next was to observe and possibly meet members of the upper echelon of society in person – it would lend a different perspective to what she'd guessed through analyzing their work. Finally, as she'd agreed with the Nocturne Group, she was to quiz people about Sirius Black with Harry and Daphne. Once again it should be quite valuable to make the inquiries in person, because she could finally catch a glimpse of the Ven. Mr. Black for herself through their memories.

"Very well, let us depart," Leblanc took her hand, and apparated her to the gates of a stately manor house.

It seemed that customs hadn't completely changed with time. A house elf showed them in to a small ball room that served as the reception area for the evening. Politeness demanded that they go and greet their host sometime soon. The room was already half-filled by the time they'd arrived, however, and so their quest to search for the Greengrass matriarch ended up introducing Hermione to a Mr. Pharrol, a Mrs. Jackson, and a Mme. Fawcette first. They also met Rita Skeeter, but Mme. Leblanc ushered Hermione away without staying to talk for long.

"Rita isn't your concern – she only goes after the big fish," Leblanc whispered, "but she's a tricky one. If she ever finds someone's story interesting but … could be more interesting, she will make it so one way or another. You know what I mean?"

"I think so," Hermione smiled understandingly, "her reputation precedes her." She could imagine Skeeter's reaction if she, say, found out that Harry Potter was at the party all too well.

But they'd warned Harry to expect enthusiastic journalists beforehand, and the room full of socialites should dilute the attention significantly. Failing that, Daphne's presence should protect him a bit. Even Skeeter would not harass Mme. Greengrass's daughter, especially in her own home, without thinking twice.

They finally found Mme. and Mr. Greengrass near the front of the room speaking with an elderly couple whose names Hermione never got a chance to learn. The Greengrass matriarch was clearly very good at playing host. She was the image of grace and confidence, and took care to project an assertive but genial personality. People treated her with deference as if it was only natural. Hermione could see how she not only managed to avoid taking any part in the previous war entirely, but also become the de facto leader of the neutral families.

Leblanc and Mme. Greengrass greeted each other like good friends, and talked about a good many things while Hermione dutifully waited at the side. Finally, Leblanc put an arm around Hermione's shoulders, beckoning her forward. "Alessandra, Mr. Greengrass, allow me to introduce Miss Hermione Granger, the author of _Journal of a Wandering Mage._ "

Hermione made the usual pleasantries, shook hands with them both (because Daphne had confirmed that bowing as a greeting was mostly out of fashion now), and presented Mme. Greengrass with her gift. There were no etiquette guides on what a young girl should gift the host family – because it generally wasn't done, but it had been necessary to distinguish her from a child merely tagging along. It had taken a bit of thinking to find an acceptable gift. She did not know the lady well enough to produce anything meaningful, and anything expensive or flashy would be unimpressive let alone something less. Still, Leblanc had thought her small vase of twenty-eight crystal irises and a self-depreciating smile would be adequate, so Hermione couldn't be too far off in the end. "I transfigured these from the fresh flowers myself, Madam Greengrass. It, er, took me awhile to get them right, but I really hope you like them."

"Thank you, Hermione," one of Alessandra Greengrass's eyebrows went up in mild surprise, "Such beautiful flowers! I imagine they weren't easy to produce."

Hermione had resisted the temptation to use the duplication charm, and had instead actually picked out twenty-eight perfect irises to turn into crystal so that no two flowers were the same. If dedication was the only thing she could show Mme. Greengrass, then she would have it. And she could only wonder at how long it would've taken a _normal_ thirteen-year-old to complete the bouquet.

"I've seen the poster for _Journal of a Wandering Mage_ in Diagon Alley, but I hadn't realized its author would be quite so young," said Mr. Greengrass, not unkindly, "You must be still in school."

"I'm in Daphne's year at Hogwarts," Hermione confirmed, "and I think maybe it's my youth that helped me in writing this book. Adults have important business to mind everyday, while we children have more free time to wonder."

Daphne's mother chuckled, a tinkling laugh that was strikingly similar to her daughter's. "An interesting perspective, Hermione. Perhaps you ought to tell us more about it some time."

"Madam Greengrass." At this moment, they were joined by a platinum blond couple. And Hermione recognized _them_ at once.

"Mr. Malfoy, Narcissa," greeted Mme. Greengrass. "My, Narcissa, your dress is simply exquisite!"

"Thank you, Alessandra. It's from a little place in Diagon Alley called The Silver Spindle. One must wade through a sea of plebeians to get in," Mrs. Malfoy sniffed, "but the collection in the back is satisfactory."

Hermione saw that Narcissa Malfoy was indeed wearing the silver number that was on display nearer to the start of the month.

But at the moment Hermione was more interested in observing the husband. Given her in depth research of the slippery opportunist the year before, nothing about Lucius Malfoy surprised her. In person, he extruded a suave air that reminded her of his ancestor Armand, who had been one of Hogwart's first students. But the current Malfoy patriarch also wore a near-permanent expression of cool arrogance that was more like the style of Armand's mother, Mme. Lucinda Malfoy.

Hermione resisted a smirk. Ah, what luck. Stubborn Lucinda might well be his namesake.

"Ah, Madam… Leblanc, right?" Having finished paying his respects to the Greengrass, Mr. Malfoy was now turning to acknowledge his other company. "You look gorgeous tonight. Er, your daughter?"

"Oh no," Mme. Leblanc laughed, "Mr. Malfoy, this young lady is Hermione Granger, our newest author. You may have seen her work, _Journal of a Wandering Mage._ "

"It's an honour to meet you, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione offered her hand, and Mr. Malfoy shook it almost automatically.

But then recognition flashed in his eyes. "Granger?"

"That is my name, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione confirmed pleasantly.

"My son Draco has said much about you," he said, slowly, "He told us your test scores have quite a reputation in school. Impressive, especially for a girl of… muggle descent."

Hermione accepted the "praise", pretending not to notice that small pause. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. I've had to work hard to remedy my ignorance," _Such as being behind on history by a thousand years,_ "Especially the ways of the magical world, but I'm proud to say that I've mostly caught up."

"Yes, I'm sure the quills and the parchments and the robes must've been a big adjustment," said Lucius Malfoy, with just the slightest mocking glint in his eyes. It wasn't in his interest to make a scene at Mme. Greengrass's party, after all.

"Ah, those things are actually quite easy to understand once I think about it," Hermione beamed up at him innocently, "Wizards have charms to erase or refill ink, so why waste time developing and adjusting to some wooden cylinders that smudge? Why switch to a flimsier material like paper when one can reproduce parchment just as easily with a duplication charm? Why get rid of robes when they work just fine? No, I think the difficult part is properly appreciating the magical society's social mentality, aspirations, and how it …" She'd wanted to say "sees its place among the universe", but that concept was already a bit too foreign. "… interacts with other parts of the world. It's intriguing."

"Indeed," Malfoy raised an eyebrow, but he said no more. "Good evening to you, Madam Greengrass, Mr. Greengrass, Madam Leblanc, Miss… Granger."

It was a pity that he had not asked her to elaborate, as she'd been wondering if he would. But the fact that he acknowledged her before he left the conversation was a pleasant surprise.

Leblanc spent a little while longer speaking with the Greengrass, before (figuratively) bowing out of the conversation as well. At about half an hour before dinner, they'd managed to become reasonably sure that Hermione should be expecting an owl from Witches Weekly, the Wizarding Wireless Network, and maybe – though she wouldn't count on this - the Daily Prophet. They'd also managed to meet Mme. Bones who was the head of the DMLE, and Mr. Crouch who was the head of the International Magical Cooperations and the former head of the DMLE, but only in passing. Hermione had spotted Tristan Nott a few times – though he only seemed to socialize with the dark-aligned families today, and Marius Bulstrode who was speaking intently with the ministry's head treasurer.

 _'A productive evening so far, all in all.'_ She wondered how much luck she'd have on the other front.

Then, when murmurs she heard in passing indicated that Harry had arrived, Leblanc sent her off.

It had taken her a bit longer than expected to spot Daphne's pale blond hair among then swishing robes and gowns, but Hermione finally found her friends among a small circle of their own near the back of the room. Daphne was smiling politely and clearly making sure to stay close to Harry. Meanwhile, Harry was excusing himself from the end of a conversation with a man Hermione recognized as Mr. Pharrol to shake the offered hand of a tall witch. Theo was at the party as well, and flanked Harry on the other side.

"Sal!" "Sally!" Daphne waved when she saw her. Harry turned as well, not quite completely hiding his relief for the intermission.

Hermione used the pause in conversation to join the circle at Daphne's other side.

"Ah, Miss Granger, right?" Mr. Pharrol remembered, "it's been good meeting you earlier."

"Likewise, Mr. Pharrol. Er, my name's Hermione Granger. I'm here with Madam Leblanc, my editor, tonight." Hermione explained to the others looking on with mild interest.

"Your editor?" asked the tall witch.

Hermione nodded. "For my novel, _Journal of a Wandering Mage_."

"Ah! I thought I remember seeing your name somewhere!"

"But we call her Sal, Madam Vance. The four of us are good friends from school," Daphne supplied.

Madam Emmeline Vance was the bronze medalist - or was it silver? - from the British Duelling Tournament last year, Hermione remembered vaguely.

"Oh, you're classmates?" Madam Vance was surprised.

"No, Theodore and I are in Slytherin, and Harry and Sal are in Gryffindor. But we're from the same year."

Madam Vance was about to say something, but was cut off when Rita Skeeter chose this moment to invite herself to the circle. "Ah, Harry! When I heard you're here I had to come and meet you for myself. Hello, Daphne dear."

"It's good to meet you, Madam Skeeter," Harry shook her hand tentatively but politely.

"You've heard of me already!" Skeeter laughed, a high-pitched sound that was quite shrill, "But please, just Rita is fine, dear."

"It's good to meet you, Rita," Harry obliged her, "Er, you were saying, Madam Vance?"

"I just wanted to tell you how glad I am to see you, Harry," Madam Vance smiled, glad to speak again, "You were barely a week old when I last saw you. Your mother would only let me hold you for two minutes before she took you back. She was a good witch, Lily, and she really loved you."

"Please, Madam Vance, did you know my parents well?" Harry asked hopefully, "it's just… my muggle relatives didn't tell me anything about them – what they did, what they're like and everything. I didn't even know they were a wizard and a witch until I got my Hogwarts letter."

In her peripheral vision, Hermione could see Skeeter, Pharrol, and a number of other journalists nearby listening with rapt attention. Skeeter especially looked to be nearly bursting with questions, except it would be too rude to interrupt. Vance's gaze softened instantly. "Aw, you poor dear! But how could they tell you so little?"

Harry blushed, embarrassed, but replied carefully. "My relatives… are not bad people, but they don't really like magic, see. They try not to think about anything related to wizards. I guess I have to be understanding of that. But I'm really glad to meet people who knew them now! Was my dad really an Auror?"

"Oh yes, and a talented one too!" Vance assured, "I think becoming an Auror was his biggest dream back in school. That, and professional Quidditch. But Auror won out in the end."

"Harry is really good at Quidditch too! He got picked to play Seeker in first year. They say he's the youngest to be on the team in ages," Hermione supplied, mainly for Skeeter's benefit. It would give her something to focus on, apart from the orphan sob story that she had a feeling Harry wouldn't appreciate.

She also took this opportunity to very gently examine Vance's Occulumency defences. Slipping in never was a problem for her, of course. Exiting without being noticed tended to be more difficult, but Vance shouldn't be too tricky.

"Incredible! James would be so proud, Harry. He played Chaser back in school. He'd earn us back as many points he lost with his troublemaking, the rascal," Vance shook her head fondly, not noticing the tiny wisp of thought that slithered through one of the gaps in her mental shield. She was deep in her memories, Hermione saw. Vance herself, sitting at the Gryffindor table for supper. Four boys - each a year below her, clowning around at the far end of the table…

"Troublemaking?" Daphne prompted, but it was time for dinner – much to Skeeter's very obvious disappointment. Madam Vance genially invited the children to sit at a table with herself, Madam MacDougal, and Mr. and Mrs. Diggory. The ladies knew each other as students, and all were dismayed that Harry learned about his parents so late. Mr. Diggory said something suitable to express pity, and Vance fondly began to recount their school days again.

"Lily was the good girl, of course. Always kind, always helping others, highest mark in class… She didn't like James then. James was obviously in love with her right away, but she kept telling him to goof off somewhere else until seventh year!" Vance chuckled, and Mrs. Diggory joined in. "But James was the one pulling a prank every other day. Pesky little devil seeds, he and his friends were. They even named themselves the Marauders."

Vance shook her head. She was remembering a hallway coated in vibrant purple slime… The conjured image of what seems to be four paw prints floating in midair to mark the deed… Filch stamping his feet in the hazy background…

"I heard James Potter and Sirius Black were best friends," Theo chose this moment to prompt.

The smiles around the table turned sad. "Ah yes, they were…" And the memories shifted again to the four laughing boys. Sirius was clapping James on the back, while James was looking inordinately pleased with himself. Both were laughing rancorously. On the other side of the table, Remus wore a large grin while the fourth boy, Peter, giggled along. Pettigrew looked quite small beside his tall friends - almost like a mouse before giants, but perhaps the way Vance saw him had something to do with it. Even memories could be influenced to some degree by perception, after all. "They were like brothers. We were taken completely by surprise! Who knew he was going to turn out this way?"

"Black really didn't get along well with… that crowd, even his own family," said Mrs. Diggory for lack of a better term. Her mind was flickering through scenes of Sirius hexing a boy who bore some resemblance to Gaius Avery… Sirius getting assigned detention while a pair of malicious looking students in green ties sniggered… Professors rushing to break up what looked to be a duel between a furious Sirius and a murderous young Bellatrix… "But we Hufflepuffs didn't know him that well then. I bet there was something shady going on in secret."

But she had no memories to back up that assertion, Hermione noted.

"He didn't seem the type to me," said Mme. MacDougal, whose family like the Greengrass was neutral in the war. "But he didn't associate much with us Ravenclaws either, so I suppose I could be wrong. Emmeline knows best, I'm sure." It was unfortunate that her mind was too risky to enter. Her point of view would've probably been very useful.

"Anyways," Vance took a large sip from her glass, and Hermione didn't need legilimency to know she was hoping to move on from the subject. "Remus Lupin was another of James's _Marauders_."

"Professor Lupin?" The children yelped in surprise.

"Oh is he teaching now?" Asked Mme. Vance, "Suits him. He was prefect back in school, though Merlin knows how he managed to get that badge, what's with everything his friends got up to." Her memories had shifted to an image of a young Remus Lupin in the common room, explaining something in a textbook to two first years.

"He said he knew my dad well, but I didn't know they were that close!" said Harry, wonderingly. Beside him, Daphne and Theo shared a look.

"Oh yes, they were inseparable," Vance confirmed.

"But wasn't there a fourth kid?" asked Mr. Diggory, "I always thought it was one paw print for each of them."

"Oh yes, two dog prints, a horse, and something else!" agreed his wife, and Hermione saw again the floating image of four paw prints. "The fourth boy, Pierre I think…"

_'The smallest print was probably a rat's, and that "horse" print looked more like a deer's. And the larger of the two "dog" prints might be a wolf's, for Lupin. Mooney, heh.'_

Wait a minute. Lupin. Mooney. Wolf…

"No, I'm pretty sure it was an English name," MacDougal interjected, "Maybe Parker?"

_'Pettigrew. Wormtail… Rat? And Prongs could easily be a stag, and Padfoot...'_

"Peter," Vance corrected. "I actually knew him fairly well." And her memories shifted again to Peter, back hunched, scuttling to his next class with an armful of books. Then to Peter, somewhat fidgety as he sat at a table with James, Sirius, Remus, Lily, and a roomful of others that Hermione knew from Vance's memory to be the original Order of Phoenix. "He was a bit of a nervous boy, but he was brave in the end. Brave enough to take arms against You-Know-Who."

Mme. MacDougal made a noncommittal noise, but Mrs. Diggory nodded vigorously.

"Poor Peter! Shame on Black for turning on his own friends!"

_'…But they didn't actually find his body!'_

Of course! They were animagi!

Wizards in their animagus forms were not detected by the school wards, but the Marauders could've easily tagged themselves with something when they first started working on their map! This would explain why they appeared on the Marauder's Map but not on hers.

Hermione was figuratively kicking herself for not thinking of this sooner. Of course Pettigrew's presence in the boy's dorms would go unnoticed if he didn't look like anything out of place. She even _knew_ that a rat lived in the boys' dormitories with Ron! Though in her defence, she never had much cause to pay attention to Ron's "pet".

So Pettigrew was not killed by Black, but was instead apparently living in the Weasleys' home all these years. Clearly he'd intentionally made himself dead to the world – the loss of only a single finger at the scene did not seem very accidental, after all. But he'd chosen to remain a rat even long after Black was apprehended, which suggested that he wasn't hiding from Black at all. Why so terrified, then?

They said Pettigrew went to confront Black, but the two actually met in the middle of a muggle street. Who's to say it wasn't actually the other way around? And when Black said " _he_ 's at Hogwarts"... Well, it would explain all of Black's seemingly contradictory actions up to now as well.

An alternative theory was beginning to seem highly plausible. _Pettigrew_ was the traitor, not Black.

Daphne and Theo were still eagerly questioning Vance and MacDougal about Lupin, while Harry was trying to ask the Diggorys more about his father and Black. Hermione drew back temporarily and steepled her fingers under the table. If she was even in part correct, then she should keep a closer eye on Ron and "Scabbers" for the boy's safety. She'd also alert the Nocturne Group to this possibility somehow. Wouldn't do for Harry to pursue what could very well turn into a vendetta against the wrong man.

At least the mystery was solved. Or very close to solved. Probably.

But she had a feeling she hadn't dreamt the last of that damned tower and spyglass yet.


	14. Year 3: Chapter 14

_'Dear Tom, today was so-so, I guess. The weather's ok. And the Defence Professor gave us our project back, and we got an O, so that's great I guess.'_

**_'You sound down, Sally. Is everything ok?'_ **

_'Yeah... Well, there is one thing, but it's kind of silly. It doesn't matter.'_

**_'Nothing you say is ever silly, Sally. Tell me what's wrong?'_ **

_'Well, it's just… At dinner I went to sit with Henry, Rowley and Gloria again, but Henry and Rowley were surrounded by their own friends. I don't think they even noticed me. Henry was busy trying to stop Arthur from nicking his potato. Then I went to Gloria and she shuffled over to make a space for me, and I sat with her._

_But then they started talking about Quidditch and a new Exploding Snap game and a bunch of people I didn't know. Sometimes Gloria had to lean back to talk to Andrea who sat on my other side. And I tried to join in, but I couldn't think of a single thing to add! I don't know, it felt as if I was there but at the same time I was not. We were still sitting and eating together, but I might as well be intruding on her life. Like, she's still my best friend in the whole school, her and Henry and Rowley, but it almost felt like it would be more convenient for everybody if I leave. Like I'm just getting in their way by being there. What do I do, Tom? What if things aren't how it used to be between us?'_

**_'Sally… I'm sure everything will be ok. Maybe Gloria's just busy catching up with what everyone did over the holidays today. I suppose it must've been a bit awkward to have them talk across you all the time, but she still invited you over, so she's still your friend right? Don't worry so much, Sally. Everything's going to be just fine…'_ **

* * *

"So you're saying that Peter Pettigrew is … _Who_?" Asked Fred again.

"Pettigrew is a thirty-something year old man, and he's supposed to be dead. See here," Sally pointed to the sliver of very old newspaper that announced Pettigrew's posthumous awards. "He was supposedly killed by Sirius Black twelve years ago."

"And he was friends with my dad, Sirius Black, and Professor Lupin back in school," said Harry. He was still a bit miffed as to why Sally had been so insistent on them talking to Fred and George. "They showed me something interesting that we need to account for", she'd said. Apparently the twins had sworn her to secrecy.

"They used to call themselves the Marauders," Sally added.

Harry watched with amazement as two pairs of jaws dropped simultaneously.

"Your Dad was a Marauder? - "

" _Sirius Black_ was a Marauder? No wonder our Black traps didn't work! - "

" _Professor Lupin_ was a Marauder?! Merlin - "

"This is a lot to take in…"

"Yeah…"

"…"

"…"

"So Peter Pettigrew really isn't in your class?"

Harry was confused. "What? Why would he be?"

"Well, see…" Fred and George glanced at each other, before seeming to coming to a decision. "Back when we were still innocent, wide-eyed firsties, we got dragged off to Filch's office – we dropped a Dungbomb in the corridor and it upset him for some reason. Anyways, we couldn't help but notice a drawer labelled Confiscated and Highly Dangerous."

Of _course_ they would… Harry felt himself starting to grin. "What did you take?"

"This," George subtly glanced around before pulling out an old piece of parchment. Harry had thought they had something hidden in its folds, but then George tapped the parchment with his wand. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good. See, it's a map of the school, and it shows where everybody is in the school. It also shows all the secret passages – well, not all, I guess. Sally knows two others, don't you Sally?"

"You do?" Harry asked his best friend, but then his eyes caught on the salutation at the top of the map. "Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers, are proud to present The Marauder's Map!"

"If this means what I think it means, then your dad was one of the creators of this map, Harry," Fred nodded thoughtfully.

"But see here," George pointed at the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, "'Peter Pettigrew' is still on the map! He appeared in the first years' dorm the same year you and Ron arrived, and then he showed up in the second years' dorm last year, and now he's here most of the time. That's why we thought he was one of your classmates all this time."

"He never goes anywhere, though," said Fred, "he moves around sometimes, but we rarely see him outside the dormitory – whichever one he's staying in for the year."

Harry was still staring at the map in wonder. Could this really be something his dad made? Was that really his dad's handwriting in the ink, his dad's magic in the parchment? But Peter Pettigrew, after all he'd learned this year, took up an equal part of his curiosity. Indeed, the name 'Peter Pettigrew' was on the page… in what looked suspiciously like _his_ dormitory! Weird…"And he wasn't there when you guys were first years and second years?"

The twins shook their heads. "Not at all." "Not a whiff of him." "The Map's never been wrong before!"

"But why's he showing up now? Black killed him!" And why in _his_ dorm, for Merlin's sake?

"Say, what if Black didn't?" Sally suddenly asked.

Harry frowned. How could Pettigrew not have died in that explosion? Why would Black let him live? "Are we going back to the smear campaign theory?"

"Not exactly, but you said the Minister arrived just after the deed was done, right? Did anyone actually see Black cast the spell? Did anyone even see Pettigrew die?"

"Not bloody likely," Harry retorted, "since anybody standing close enough to see would've been killed too!"

"Exactly! So all those "witnesses" don't really count! Who's to say Pettigrew didn't crawl into a ditch somewhere and disapparate?"

That… was possible, actually. He guessed he'd assumed that muggles would've seen Pettigrew leave the alley sooner or later if he were alive, but he'd forgotten that wizards could teleport. (And wouldn't that be a cool thing to learn in sixth year!) "… So you're saying that Pettigrew got hurt in the explosion but managed to escape? And now he's here?" But how come he'd never noticed him? Did Pettigrew have another invisibility cloak? Or maybe he could – what's the word? - disillusion himself like Dumbledore?

And why would he _be_ here anyways? Did he realize that Sirius Black had escaped? Was Pettigrew in danger still?

"More than that, Harry!" Sally's eyes locked onto his intently, "this might change everything. If Pettigrew's alive, then he doesn't have an alibi anymore. Why did he let the world think him dead for so long? Do we really know who killed all those muggles?"

"Woah! That's one hell of a theory," Fred whistled.

"But you have to admit, if Pettigrew's alive, doesn't he look suspicious?"

"But all this assumes that Pettigrew _is_ alive," Harry reminded her.

"Why would the Map say he is when he isn't?" defended Fred.

"Merlin! Which side are you on, Gred?"

"I don't know!"

"I think we should at least consider the possibility that Pettigrew might be alive and somewhat dangerous," said Sally. "At least until we figure out why his name appears on the Map like this."

Harry shrugged. He still didn't think it was very likely. Pettigrew killing a street of muggles instead of Black and then making it look like he was the victim? He supposed he _could_ 've, but that didn't make it true!

But when they went to the Room of Requirements to meet with the Nocturne Group, they found Daphne and Theo regaling Blaise, Anthony and Terry with a theory of their own.

"Harry! Sal! You came just in time! We're trying to convince them that Lupin might be in league with Black!"

"What? Why?" Harry spluttered.

"I still think it's a bit… far-fetched to say that just because they used to be best friends, Lupin's going to help Black now," interjected Blaise.

"But you gotta admit, there's something weird about Lupin!" Daphne insisted, "Have you noticed how his health seems to change with the time of the month like clockwork? And how he keeps missing class near full moon? We think he might be a werewolf!"

"He matches the other symptoms too," Theo added, "The yellow-tinted eyes, for example."

"That's … true," nodded Terry slowly.

Harry's mind was reeling. This was too many surprises in a day! Professor Lupin, a _werewolf_?

But he felt almost compelled to defend Professor Lupin. He was the best defence professor they'd had! And he'd helped him so much with the Patronus Charm! "Even if he's a werewolf though, it doesn't mean he's helping Black!"

"Well, werewolves tend to hate wizards for rejecting them, and they supported You-Know-Who in packs during the war," said Theo, "but I guess that's true too. Still, we have to be at least a bit more careful with him. Lupin has two motives to work with Black."

"No, really!" Daphne took Harry's hand earnestly, "I mean, maybe Lupin hasn't been plotting your death – maybe he's just been bringing Black food once in a while and hiding him and things like that, but we don't know if he'll choose you over his last best friend alive if it really comes down to it."

"Funny that," said Sally, "Harry and I just found out that Pettigrew might be alive."

Harry sighed, and started to help Sally describe their conversation with the Weasley twins. He still didn't believe Pettigrew killed the muggles, but he'd rather talk about Pettigrew any day over being paranoid about Professor Lupin.

It was kind of funny. Whenever the Nocturne Group argued, nobody ever got mad. If anything, his friends seemed to alternate between cracking jokes and dead seriousness. Terry had more or less jumped aboard Sally's "Pettigrew watch", assuring them that it was always like this in muggle detective stories. Blaise threw up his hands and said if they were going to be that paranoid they might as well lock themselves in here until Black goes away, but that Professor Lupin being a werewolf should be something to remember – beside, there was _always_ something wrong with the Defense Professors. Harry thought they were jumping at shadows, and said as much. Theo said they might as well look into it, because weren't they running out of leads anyways?

They eventually agreed to pay closer attention to Professor Lupin, though they hadn't decided how. They also made Harry promise to ward his bed and check his dorm regularly for anything suspicious. Harry suggested that they talk to Professor Lupin about Peter Pettigrew, but Theo and Daphne yelled "No!" Then Daphne suggested ordering sneak-o-scopes to carry to class, and Harry suddenly remembered that Ron had given him one last summer. He'd spelled it silent because it kept going off when he was trying to sleep. But what if…

When Harry got back to his dorm that evening, he decided to try an experiment. Fishing his "faulty" sneak-o-scope out of his trunk, he removed the silencing charm. A shrill, eardrum-piercing ringing filled the room at once. "What the hell, mate!" Yelled Ron, who'd nearly sat on Scabbers in surprise.

Harry grabbed the sneak-o-scope and ran outside. It shut off the moment the dormitory door closed.

He then took it for a tour around the common room and up and down the Gryffindor tower, with no problems. Finally, he stepped back into the third year dorm, and the thing started screeching again.

Harry silenced the sneak-o-scope again and gaped at it.

Sally and Terry's theory suddenly sounded a lot more real!

* * *

After Sally and Harry ran off to who-knows-where with their friends, Fred and George sat there dumbstruck for a long time. The idea that there was a wizard who was supposed to be dead hiding somewhere in Gryffindor Tower was just… Crazy! But the Map had never been wrong before…

Maybe it was a prank on future pranksters? But why should it go off now? Two years after they'd started using the map was an oddly specific time for 'Peter Pettigrew' to turn up, wasn't it? But could there really be an adult hiding in the students' quarters?

In the end, they'd decided, it all depended on whether the Map was telling the truth or not. And with one of the Map's creators dead, one supposedly playing dead, and one on a murdering rampage, there was only one person who could explain it now.

Their DADA Professor looked surprised when he let them into his office. "Mr. and Mr. Weasley! What brings you here today?" He greeted while trying to wipe an ink smudge on his finger with a corner of his shirt.

"We found something of yours, Professor, and we thought you might need it again to catch Sirius Black. That, and we think we might've seen something, er, really really _weird_ on here."

Professor Lupin's eyes lit up when they produced the piece of parchment. "You actually found the Map! I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

The three prankmasters of Hogwarts watched as the ink began to sprawl out to form names.

"Thank you for returning this to me, gentlemen," said Professor Lupin, "This will be _beyond_ helpful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Marauder has reacquired the map!


	15. Year 3: Chapter 15

_'Dear Tom, I don't know what I should do._

_I sat with Gloria and her friends again at dinner, but it was just like yesterday with Henry and the days before. I felt like we were just talking for courtesy's sake rather than for any real interest. I felt like an imposter sitting at that table. I guess I can blend in, smile and listen and try to copy everyone else and they won't kick me out of their circle, but I just don't belong there. I wonder if there's still any connection left between me and Gloria now, and I'm afraid I won't like the answer. Would she even notice if I'm gone? Would anyone?'_

**_'Oh Sally, I understand exactly how you feel. Don't let them get you down. You're important. You matter. But if you really want to be sure,'_ **

_'Yes?'_

**_'You can always go confront Gloria directly. Don't worry, everything will be alright…'_ **

* * *

Harry was just putting his left foot through the portrait hole when a green blob flew past his thigh. "Trevor!"

"Accio Trevor," he turned and visualized Neville's pet. A moment later, the green blob was securely in his hand, its escape attempt cut short. "I've got him!" He called to Neville, but not before muttering a tracking charm as quietly as he possibly could.

He might not get another opportunity, and it wasn't as if he could just _tell_ Neville that his pet might actually be a middle-age man in hiding.

After the sneak-o-scope experiment, the Nocturne Group became increasingly curious about Pettigrew. They wondered about how Pettigrew might be hiding – if he was really there. Eventually, it was decided that either Pettigrew shrunk himself to the size of a bug – in which case they really can't do anything about him – or he was hiding in plain sight as an animagus.

One of the semi-regular animal residents of the dormitory was Hedwig - who was a _she_ and spent most of her time in the Owlery. The other two were Trevor and Scabbers. And though they didn't know anything for sure, they could, um, discreetly keep a closer eye on the pets.

"Thanks, Harry," Neville took the toad with both hands, "that summoning charm sure is handy, huh? I don't know how I would keep track of Trevor without it."

It must be boring pretending to be someone's pet all the time. If Pettigrew really was one of them, Harry didn't know how he could stand it. _'Huh, maybe that's why Trevor keeps escaping all the time,'_

Nearer to the fireplace, Ron was gesturing dramatically about something to Sally, who was absently scratching Scabbers behind the ears. "… and I've been feeding him rat tonic, but it doesn't look like it's working! He's a very old rat. Maybe …"

"Don't worry, Ron," assured Sally as Harry joined them, "I'm sure it'll take more than a little time under the weather to kill this one. He looks like he's very well cared for."

They talked about Quidditch for a while, which put Ron in a better mood.

Later, Harry told Sally about the tracking on Trevor. The charm would link to a spelled piece of parchment that showed how far and in which direction Trevor is located relative to the parchment. They also made it show if Trevor was outside the castle. "Did you get Scabbers?"

Sally smiled. "All taken care of, Harry."

He wondered if Theo and Daphne are finding anything on Professor Lupin.

"Have you noticed recently how Lupin sometimes look at us funny?" Asked Daphne.

"He does, doesn't he?" Blaise had noticed it too. Sometimes when they meet the Defense professor in the halls or even once when they enter the classroom, the professor would react in an odd way. It was a subtle thing, a slight widening of the eyes, sort of, but Blaise agreed with Daphne that something might be going on. "You think he knows we're on to him?"

"Maybe," said Terry. "Or it might be our guilty conscience – well, obviously _we're_ not the guilty ones, but you know what I mean."

"Though I think he watches Sal and Harry the most," Theo commented.

"Does he? I didn't notice."

"Ah well, let's be more careful all the same."

* * *

Meanwhile, in the empty staff room, Remus was squinting at the sprawling map laid out on his lap. He wished he'd built in a function that lets you focus on just one name at a time. It wouldn't have helped the Marauders avoid detentions back then, but it would solve his current mystery now.

Ever since he'd gotten the Map back, he'd checked on Peter's location as often as he could. But while watching the names move about, he also noticed that Hermione Granger's 'disappeared' quite often, more often than he and Severus thought even. Remus had started to wonder if she knew of not just one, but a whole _network_ of hidden passages that the Marauders never found.

How could someone build up such intimate knowledge of the castle in just three years? A few _second_ years still struggle not to get lost!

"…and how did she get from Gryffindor Tower to the other side of the school on the second floor in less than thirty seconds?"

"How do you mean?" Remus turned in his chair, and saw Severus standing at the door.

And so, Remus somehow ended up explaining the Marauder's Map and what it did to _Severus_ of all people.

"Is that how Potter and Black always knew where I was?" Asked his former classmate archly.

Remus did his best to look apologetic, and hoped that Severus _never_ got to see the "special messages" they'd made up just for him if he ever tried to unlock the Map.

"And you have this with you all along, Lupin?"

"No, I've only … reacquired it recently," said Remus honestly. "Look, there's something really important to see on this too. See here, it's showing that Peter Pettigrew is still in the school. All those years back Sirius was arrested for Peter's death, and Peter's still alive! Sirius was arrested for a crime he didn't commit!"

"And there you go, jumping to the mutt's defense," Severus shook his head. "Are you sure it's not a glitch of your map? Faulty spellwork?"

"It isn't."

"Are you certain, because it was enchanted by four del –" But Severus bit off whatever scathing insult that had been on his tongue, and sighed instead. "Never mind. Let's say I believe you, and Pettigrew survived his encounter with Black."

"So Sirius was wrongly convicted," declared Remus, triumphant.

"It doesn't mean that Black is innocent. So what if they arrested him for blasting Pettigrew to bits and it turns out that Pettigrew survived? Those twelve muggles killed in the same explosion are still dead. Potter and Lily are still dead. Whether he successfully murdered Pettigrew is just a technicality at this point! Look, Lupin,"

Severus's black eyes were filled with disgust and a steel-like intent, and a little bit of … sympathy? "I know you and Black were thick as thieves back then, and … I know how hard it is when your best friend turns against you. But you've got to see Black for what he is. He's proven his capacity for treachery more than enough times. Even if you ignore the fact that he tried to have me killed in fifth year and make you complicit in the murder, he still betrayed Potter and Lily. You trusted him to be secret keeper and he failed utterly. He's shown his true colours now and making excuses for him won't turn him into your friend, Lupin! And you won't be doing anybody a favour if you call the dementors off him because Pettigrew technically isn't dead."

Was it really just his own sentimentality, then? But still, Remus wondered. There could be some mistake, some explanation. Anything.

It now occurred to him that Severus would want him to surrender the map so that it could be used to help capture Sirius, but they both knew that Severus would have a hard time forcing the issue unless Remus cooperated. And until he was certain what happened that Halloween night, he simply couldn't hand his old friend over to the dementors.

Remus would make sure to hold on to this map for a while longer. And keep his own watch.

* * *

"So have any of those two-way mirrors we owl-ordered shown anything yet?"

"Nope, nothing off in Lupin's office, from what we can see through the door. No strange visitors either. But then again, we're not watching him all the time. Too bad we can't put a mirror in his office itself."

"Yeah, too dangerous. He might catch us. Besides, these two sets weren't exactly cheap."

"Hopefully these'll help us solve the blasted mystery. Too bad we can't get access to the Weasley twins' 'source'! You think they won't let us use it for a little while, Harry?"

"They can't, Blaise. I tried asking, but they said they already gave it over to a professor."

"Oh they did? That's very... noble of them."

"Yeah I thought so too, Sally. I hope they didn't get in trouble for it."

"Heh, I just wonder who they gave it too."

* * *

"Well, anything new?"

"Of what kind?"

"You still refuse to give that map to the authorities, Lupin?"

"I can't, Severus. Besides, Sirius hasn't even shown up yet."

"Well, I tried. And you say Pettigrew is..."

"Still following Ron Weasley in his animagus form."

"I see."

"..."

"And how's our other mystery faring?"

"Miss Granger? I can now confidently say that she knows the castle at least as well as myself and possibly better, often disappears off to somewhere for extended periods of time, and breaks curfew more often than the Weasley twins."

"And McGonagall still thinks she never breaks rules. She counts on Granger to be a model student and keep Potter and Weasley in line."

"You mean she's never gotten caught? That's impressiv- em, I mean, that's incredible... Why, Severus, what's so funny?"

"Ha, try harder and we just might make a professor out of you yet, Lupin. But you're right. It is most impressive of her. I mean, she'd just about pulled the wool over the eyes of everybody in the castle."

"And Merlin knows how she did it."

"Well, I wish I do."

* * *

February and March passed in relative monotony. Her magical and physical retraining was on schedule. Business at the Silver Spindle became more relaxed, but still strong. Her interview with Witches Weekly and the Wizarding Wireless Network lead to an sizable increase in correspondence, most of which she replied to. She was spending a little more time with Fred and George now that they sometimes consulted her for opinions on products, but not that much more than before. Tom Marvolo Riddle was the same as ever.

The Nocturne Group continued to spy on Lupin directly, and Neville and Ron's respective pets through the tracking charms. Hermione had personally cast the tracking on 'Scabbers' silently and wandlessly, and the animagus would have a hard enough time even realizing that it was there, let alone her involvement. Just a precaution, in case Pettigrew eventually decided to ambush someone. Meanwhile, the knowledge that Lupin now probably had the Marauder's Map must be taken into consideration, lest she accidentally lead him to the girl's bathroom on the second floor. She now sometimes travelled around the school in her own animagus form just to be safe.

Hermione also made sure to start spending more time with Ron, mostly out of concern for his proximity to Pettigrew. Especially since she discovered that he was beginning to carry Scabbers in his pocket all the time due to the rat's "sickness". After her plethora of obligations in second year they'd drifted apart somewhat, but Harry and Ron had always been close and Hermione spent too much time with the Weasley siblings to be a stranger. If Ron was surprised by the change, he didn't show it.

Weeks passed without too much excitement. Thus, on an ordinary Saturday evening when the Nocturne Group decided to go for a stroll to scout out the area for the obstacle course exam that Professor Lupin was supposedly going to set, they were completely taken by surprise to see Ron being dragged into the forest by a giant black dog.

"Ron!" Harry yelled, and charged after them.

"Harry wait!" Yelled Blaise, "Damn, now we have to go in after him! It's too dangerous to for him to be off alone. It might be a trick by Sirius Black!"

_'No truer words, Blaise…'_ Especially since she now had an idea of who the 'dog' was. "Anthony and Theo, mind letting some professors know where we're going and why? Just in case we run into something murderous in there."

The pair took off toward the castle without complaint, while the others started briskly into the forest. They were tense, but also curious and excited. After almost a year of guessing, it was time for some sort of resolution at last.

And as for Hermione herself, she felt rather much the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, things are really coming together quickly now. Next chapter: confrontation between Nocturne Group, Sirius, Lupin and Snape!
> 
> BTW, voting has started for the fairy tales writing challenge on [Starcatcher.org](http://starcatcher.org/index.php). Come check out some choose-your-own-path fanfics and cast a vote!


	16. Year 3: Chapter 16

"Ron!"

The dark animal was leaping away with amazing speed. Harry ran as fast as he could, just barely managing not to lose sight of Ron's maroon jumper among the trees. He could hear his friends yelling behind him, but they were keeping up. He had to get to Ron, and quickly.

Then, suddenly, the dog disappeared with Ron entirely.

Harry squinted, searching in vain for a flicker in the distance, or perhaps some footprints or a trail. He'd lost them! How was he supposed to help Ron now? If his friend was armed, then at least he could hope that Ron might've freed himself already. But if he happened to have dropped his wand in the struggle -

But wait, didn't Ron say he was visiting Hagrid for advice on Scabbers's illness this evening? "The tracking on Scabbers! We need that parchment!"

Sally was quick to whip out the item in question. "Ten meters, forward and down. If Scabbers is still with him, that is."

Forward and _down_? But how –

"Look! There's a tunnel under the whomping willow," pointed Daphne.

Harry gulped. He knew from his experience in second year that they would have a hell of a time getting around the club-like branches – but thankfully they didn't have to. A small pebble had levitated and launched itself at a knot at the base of the tree, causing all the branches to freeze in place. "I came across something about whomping willows when I was reading for the last Herbology essay," said Terry excitedly, "It's so cool that it actually worked! Did you know they hit hard enough to smash up a train?"

Blaise started to comment on how difficult it would be for a dog to figure out that trick, but Harry was already climbing into the tunnel. He hoped Ron hadn't been injured too badly. Madam Pomfrey could probably fix him up in a day or two as long as they could find him before he bleeds to death, but getting mauled would _hurt_.

There was a light up ahead. Shuffling toward it, Harry found himself in a sort of … cabin? His ginger friend was sitting on the floor in a heap. Seeing Ron's painful-looking position, Harry ran to him at once. "Ron! Are you alright?"

"Harry watch out – "

"Expelliarmus."

…And spun around, only to stare into a gaunt, haggard face framed by long, matted hair. Sirius Black grinned, pointing Ron's wand at his chest.

Harry reflexively tried to raise his wand, only to find that it was already flying halfway across the room.

"I thought you'd come and help your friend," Black started, but cut off in surprise when the wand he was holding shot out of his hand as well. At the same time, a red beam flew from the tunnel, shot past Ron's fingers, and landed squarely on the quivering lump in his chest pocket. It immediately became still.

"Wow, great aim, Sal!" said Blaise to Sally, both of them emerging from the shadows.

"Not bad yourself, Blaise. Accio," said Sally, summoning both wands to her before training her own wand on Black. "Sorry about this, but we have to take precautions. What and who exactly have you come for, Mr. Black?"

"It's a trap for Harry!" Ron started to shout. "Give us back our wands! If you want him you'll have to kill me too, Black!"

Sirius Black merely raised a pointed finger at Ron. Harry scrambled to collect the wands from Sally. Nobody promised that Black couldn't do wandless magic! Except, it was not a spell that left his mouth.

"There's the one I came for," Black croaked. "The little bastard who should've died long ago!"

"M-me?!" Ron squeaked.

So it was really true! Harry understood. "It's Ron's rat, isn't it? Peter Pettigrew? The rat is the one you tried to break into the common room for?"

"Scabbers? W-what –"

"Yes, Harry!" Black shouted, looking very much like a madman in that moment. It was as if a floodgate had been opened. "We thought he was our friend, but all along he was selling our secrets to You-Know-Who! He sold your parents' lives to You-Know-Who! When I saw _Wormtail_ in that picture in the Prophet, I knew I'd get him at last!"

"So who blew up the street full of muggles?" asked Sally.

"Pettigrew did! He cut off his own finger, the bastard, and before I knew it I was staring at a giant fireball barrelling away! And they pinned the whole thing on me, threw me in Azkaban without asking a single question – Ha! Now _please_ , lend me a wand and let me finish him!"

As strange as Black's story was, Harry thought it actually sort of made sense. At least, more sense than what _they'd_ been able to come up with so far. He supposed that explained why they couldn't find any information on Black's trial or past crimes. Of course they couldn't, if there actually were none.

But Black's last exclamation also jerked Ron out of his shocked stupor. "What the hell! You're bonkers!" yelled Ron. Pulling the limp rat out of his pocket, he cradled him protectively. "You broke my leg!"

Harry's wariness of Black was back in full force. Innocent or not, he still injured Ron and dragged Ron through the woods. Clearly he was not harmless. And Black's fevered expression and single-minded focus on killing Pettigrew was also a bit unsettling. It didn't speak well for his sanity.

"Look, I'm sorry about that! But this is my only chance. I can't let him get away again!"

"Ron," Sally murmured, "you said he's a very old rat. How long has Scabbers been in your family?"

"T-ten years? Eleven? Why? We've been taking very good care of him!"

"Still, that's a bit too long for a rat, isn't it? And you say he'd started shivering – when? Ever since the summer when Sirius Black broke out of prison?"

Ron shook his head furtively. "But Scabbers is just … Scabbers! He sleeps all day and eats when I feed him and bit Crabbe for us in first year and -"

"Ron, we suspected that Pettigrew's alive and hiding in our dorm since Christmas," Harry had to explain, "Ask Fred and George! They had this thing that showed the names of everybody in the school, and they were the ones who found him first. We wondered if he might be an animagus, and we were watching all the pets in the dorm. We just didn't know which…"

"You see?" Cried Black, vindicated, "Now give the bastard here!" And he took a long stride toward Ron, but a quiet "accio" from Sally sent the rat soaring into her waiting hand. Scabbers– Pettigrew– finally began to stir, but after a quick "petrificus totalus" from Sal he was still again.

"Mr. Black, if the Aurors see him alive he can be used to prove your innocence – free you," explained Sally, "You only have to wait a little longer for justice –"

"I did my waiting! Twelve years! In Azkaban!"

Harry stole a glance toward his friends. A part of him sympathized with Black's need for revenge, but another part didn't want him to really become a murderer because of a ratty traitor.

Sally didn't seem to react at all, but that outburst made Blaise suspicious again. "Not so fast. Why not give him to the Aurors, Mr. Black? You say Pettigrew was the one who worked for the Death Eaters and killed the twelve people. How do we know you're telling the truth? We can't just hand over a person for you to kill because you tell us to."

Black rounded on him, then narrowed his eyes at Blaise's green scarf. "Why do you even ask? Don't pretend you little Death Eaters don't know already!"

"May I remind you that _you_ and Pettigrew are the Death Eater suspects here?" Blaise's eyebrows rose exaggeratedly like they always did when he tried to look nonchalant. "And don't even think about taking one of our wands by force. All of us know how to duel, and we've got back-up too!"

"You're not doing yourself any favours by insulting our friend, Mr. Black," Harry added. Black jerked back as if stung at this, which in turn confused Harry. Had he said something unreasonable? "If you don't cooperate we'll have to call people who'll be less likely to hear you out!"

Now that the excitement wore off, Harry kind of wished they'd let someone more qualified deal with this instead. What were you supposed to say to stop a probably innocent half-mad prison escapee from tackling you to murder someone? He knew Blaise was just bluffing, though he hoped that Black didn't. Probably none of them could duel as well as Black, even with back-up in the form of the rest of the Nocturne Group. Though maybe if they could stop him from getting a wand they'd have a chance? He wished there was a teacher nearby...

"Yes, Padfoot," said a new voice from the door. Stealing a quick glance toward it, Harry was relieved to see two tall figures followed by several smaller ones that he knew to be his friends. "These children were the first to look into whether you're actually guilty, and we owe them our thanks. Besides, it's about time we all grew up."

"Professor Lupin!"

* * *

"Remus!" exclaimed Black, "And Snive… _Severus_."

He actually corrected himself! Granted, it took Lupin glaring expectantly at him to convince him to do it, but still… Severus was surprised. Not an apology, but still…

But important things first. "You were secret keeper, Black. How did You-Know-Who find out Potter's whereabouts? If you answer that with the truth spell lit, we'll hand Pettigrew to the aurors and get your fugitive status overturned. You'll be a free man and back in society's good graces." He still felt Black's freedom was a bit unfortunate… Ah well. He'd let it be for Lupin and Harry's sake, he supposed. He kind of owed them this much at least.

"Just answer his question, Sirius." Lupin urged wearily, muttering a spell that lit a green orb of light at the tip of his wand before handing it handle-first to the fugitive. The light would extinguish or dim if the holder told a lie. It was the least offending test they had. As much as Severus wanted to douse Black with Veritaserum, he doubted Black would agree to it. At the moment the truth was more important. "Believe it or not, but we're all trying to help you here, Severus included. Killing Peter won't help anyone now, but with him alive you can live normally again."

Black sighed. "James, Peter and I arranged to replace me with Peter as secret keeper in private. I was the one who convinced him to do it. No one would suspect Peter, I thought! I could take the brunt of the Death Eater attention and Peter could be safe! When I – when I saw the news that Halloween, I thought Peter had been tortured. It was only when I got to his house and he started to run from me that I understood - If only we knew…"

Black broke down into sobs at this point, and Lupin was at his friend's side in two strides. Severus turned away as Lupin took Black into his arms and began to whisper some comforting assurances or the likes. "Where is Pettigrew? We need to take him to the Aurors for questioning."

It was Hermione Granger who produced the stiff rat – immobilized? Severus transfigured a piece of wood into a silver cage and magically strengthened it before shoving the rat into it, stunning Pettigrew just to be sure. That done, he began to corral the students toward the tunnel. It would've been safer for Black to stay here, but from the way the man glared at him it clearly wasn't going to happen. He didn't trust Severus to keep his word. Which was fine by him. ' _Your funeral, Black.'_

There was very little chatter as they passed through the tunnel. Black, Lupin and Harry spoke quietly among themselves, but only for a little while. Ron Weasley still looked shaken from the discovery that his pet was actually a wizard playing dead. Severus's mind was split between watching Pettigrew and an endless replay of the events that led up to this moment. The students had all but dragged himself and Lupin out of their respective offices. They'd apparently worked out a Marco Polo style system of spark signals and left Boot at the whomping willow to communicate. They'd looked surprised when Lupin whipped out his map instead, but apparently they already knew it existed.

After some questioning, Severus discovered that they'd chosen himself and Lupin as their 'rescuer' for very particular reasons. Lupin, because he was friends with Black and unlikely to let Black get taken into custody without hearing him out. Himself, because they trusted him.

So even the students believed that Black should get the benefit of the doubt. Now, Severus had to grudgingly accept. As irresponsible, arrogant, self-centered the man was, he'd never been a traitor.

What happens now? Severus thought, strolling out into the starlight. He'd take the rat to his office and call the Aurors there. Then he'd see that the students make it back to their respective common rooms – curfew had started fifteen minutes ago, after all. And then probably fix himself a nice drink. He deserved it.

There was suddenly a small commotion behind him. "Professor Lupin, are you ok?"

' _Don't tell me he didn't…'_ Severus swore. "Everyone get behind me! He's a werewolf!"

For a moment he was afraid that the children would freeze up in shock, but thankfully they all moved right away. The scramble to reach him, however, temporarily blocked his sight of Lupin. Severus tried to peer past the moving bodies, his wand at ready. He thought he saw Black transform into his dog form in his peripheral vision, getting ready to fight the wolf –

And then the world was plunged into an eerie, icy darkness. Fog started to obscure his vision.

Dark, tattered shadows began to emerge between the trees, bearing down on all of them.

' _Damn it, not now!'_

"Expecto patronum!" His doe patronus burst forth in a bright flash of white, encircling their party and offering some temporary reprieve. But while she could defend them, to stand here until they all get picked off by a rampaging werewolf was not an option. Attempting to move everyone toward the castle was too risky – it was too easy to lose somebody. They needed to go on the offensive …

His doe was joined by another. Severus watched with surprise as the silver stag charged the dementors, finally convincing them to back off for good.

"Great casting, Harry!" he heard Greengrass say.

The boy looked down modestly. "It's all thanks to Professor Lupin,"

"Where _is_ Lupin?" Severus turned, not yet daring to breath a sigh of relief. Beside him, Black barked, looking equally confused.

"Hey, where's Sal?" Nott suddenly yelled.

"Down here! I'm alright!" A small figure clambered out from the shadows. It seemed she'd merely fallen into a bush. "By the way, I saw Professor Lupin run away. I think he remembered to take his potion after all."

Did he? Severus's eyes narrowed. But he saw Lupin's symptoms before the transformation with his own eyes! There could be no mistake… "Let's get out of the forest," he muttered.

He'd missed something just now. He was sure of it. And Lupin had better give him an answer in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, how Lupin was made "safe" in about a second. 
> 
> I wonder who's still paying attention to the diary?


	17. Year 3: Chapter 17

When Remus saw the full moon and felt the all-too-familiar tingle, he knew he'd made a grave mistake.

He'd been putting off drinking the potion, thinking that he'd do it after supper. But then when Anthony Goldstein barrelled into his office yelling that Sirius had kidnapped a student and that Harry had gone after him, he'd left in such a hurry that he'd completely forgotten about it! Grimacing, he tried harder than ever to fight the wolf that was getting out, but he knew it would be futile as the pain intensified. He just hoped they could keep him from hurting anyone –

Then, abruptly, it stopped.

Remus blinked in confusion. He looked up to search the sky for the full moon, only to find himself staring at a bright, blue sky and a golden sun. ' _W-what in Merlin's name –'_

"Er, Professor? I think there's something I should tell you. This is a time turner."

Remus looked down at the source of the voice: a sheepish-looking Hermione Granger, holding an odd golden device. Belatedly, he noticed that its thin gold chain was looped around his neck. "The Ministry lent it to me so that I can get to all my classes. It can take you back in time for a couple of hours at a time, see. I took us back to late-afternoon, so you won't transform for another three hours, right?"

"Thank you, Hermione! That was genius." Time travel!

So all those times he'd thought she disappeared or, silly as it was, apparated across the school… It all made sense now. "And you've been using this very often?"

"Em… Well… You see, they said I was only supposed to use it to take my classes,"

Remus raised an eyebrow and couldn't help but smile knowingly. He could see where this was going.

"A-and… maybe a little bit to finish my homework, and do some extra reading,"

"Un-huh," Remus nodded along. But who could blame her? If he had a time turner he'd want to use it too. _Especially_ back when he was in school. It was a good thing nobody ever let the Marauders get their hands on one.

"… And maybe a little bit of other things too," she quailed. "You won't get me into trouble, would you Professor? They made me promise I wouldn't tell anybody I have it too. It was supposed to be a secret."

Remus chuckled. "Don't worry, my lips are sealed," Then, just because he was feeling mischievous, "Marauder's honour."

Today was such a wonderful day!

Well, it was sad to discover that Peter had turned against them, but a warm, hopeful feeling bloomed in his chest nevertheless. He'd been alone for so long, and now he had a living friend again! He couldn't wait to get the legal business sorted. Then he might take a year or two off from teaching, just so that he could make sure he could help Sirius adjust. While he greatly enjoyed being a Professor, Sirius was worth it. Sirius was worth anything.

And whatever he said before about attachment being unwise, he'd take it all back. If he'd never been friends with Sirius and James, he sincerely doubted he'd ever know joy as great as he felt now.

Now, it was time to go and drink that potion before he'd miss his chance again.

* * *

"… So then you just stayed in your office the whole night? And Granger went out to join us again later?"

"Yes," said Lupin. "Or at least that's what she told me. She had no reason to stick with me the whole afternoon. She mustn't be held accountable for revealing the secret, Severus! It was the only thing she could do under the circumstance."

So _that_ , according to Lupin, was the big secret. A time turner, which explained all of Granger's mysterious disappearances as well.

Severus supposed he shouldn't even be surprised. _Technically_ not offered to students, time turners were something of an official secret to be negotiated between very exceptional students and their Heads of House. In each instance, no one was supposed to know save for the two parties involved - not even other professors. Severus only knew because he himself had given out a single time turner to one of his Slytherins, in his entire teaching career.

Lupin had not been privy to this information. Now that he knew, she was just another student to him. Well, perhaps a little bit special in the sense that she was Harry's friend.

For Severus, however, it was yet another _improbability_ to add to the rest of Granger's collection. ' _That girl cannot be just an ordinary student. It's just too bloody unlikely - '_

A burst of flame appeared in his fireplace, leaving a piece of parchment in its place:

' _Please come to my office. The Aurors will arrive to collect your official testimony at 10am, if convenient. The password is Treacle Tarts._

_Albus.'_

Severus checked the clock. It was 9:45. He might as well get there early.

They might just have one other thing to discuss.

When he stepped past the gargoyles, however, he found that the headmaster's office was empty. Taking his usual place in the seat across Dumbledore's desk, Severus sighed and settled to wait.

"I know what you're thinking."

A voice from above …?

"Please keep what you know about that particular third-year to yourself, Severus."

That portrait in green! "Potion Master! I didn't know you were a headmaster as well."

"Advantage of location, Severus. People come and go from this office but they rarely ever have a reason to look upward," The Potion Master smiled easily from his chaise. "But no, I was not a headmaster. The school was hardly big enough to need a headmaster then. The four of us managed fine."

The four of us? And he was the first Hogwarts Potion Master, from the early days of the school, whose portrait was important enough to be hung in the headmaster's office… Severus gasped with sudden realization. "You're Salazar Slytherin."

The Potion Master – _Salazar_ – inclined his head.

Severus's mind was reeling. He'd been talking to the Slytherin founder all these years and he had no idea! He'd discussed potions with this portrait, taken advices from this portrait… bloody hell, he'd even snarked at this particular portrait! (Though to be fair, that last bit seemed to be mutual.) He'd almost blurted out an ineloquent "Why didn't you tell me?", but he could already imagine hearing the obvious reply of "because you never asked". All in that familiar tone he now identified as positively, stereotypically Slytherin.

And his suspicion about Granger, it was confirmed… "So she _is_ special, then? You take an interest in her too?" he ventured.

"Yes. Prodigious, talented, and willing to challenge rules that most take for granted. I do agree that she's very intriguing," Salazar steepled his fingers, "but then again, one might say mine is a _vested_ interest."

A vested interest? Could he possibly mean what Severus thought he meant? But of course, it would all make sense then. If she was being taught by _Salazar Slytherin_ personally… "Why her? What did you s - _I mean_ , could you tell me a bit more about her?"

A chuckle. "Albus once asked me that same question about you, Severus. And I said to him, 'Do you know what I said to Headmaster Black back then, when he asked about your own studies? I told him that your studies do not concern him as Headmaster.'"

Severus grimaced. "Dumbledore would probably love to hear all about her."

"Of course he would. Albus would love to know everything about everyone. But he doesn't need to, wouldn't you agree?"

"No, I suppose he doesn't."

It seemed Severus came here only to talk about Pettigrew after all. He'd be a fool to just interfere in Salazar's plans for no particular reason. Especially since he still hadn't figured out if that comment about confidentiality was subtle blackmailing or just a play on his sympathy.

And Dumbledore had his fingers in too many pies already.

* * *

' _Sirius Black cleared of all charges! Minister offers apology on behalf of predecessor!'_

' _Peter Pettigrew on trial for murder, espionage, obstruction of justice!'_

' _Peter Pettigrew sentenced to life in Azkaban!'_

Hermione folded the latest issue of the Prophet and set it down beside her breakfast plate.

So, it was all settled.

When she noticed Lupin going rigid in the moonlight, she'd immediately time turned him away from the influence of the full moon before he could transform. She then left him to his own devices, though she'd kept an eye on his movements once in a while via her own map. By evening, she left the castle once more to reconvene with the others in the forest. Passing the dementors had not been pleasant. She'd transformed, but a snake animagus form unfortunately offers less protection against dementors than what other animagi would enjoy. And she'd had to fight the urge to _get away_ from the creatures, and instead slither _towards_ the mass of shadows… Her respect for Black's escape from Azkaban grew.

The aurors had been quick to arrive after that. Pettigrew was rennervated and presumably questioned before twelve witnesses right there and then. (The students had been ordered to return to their common rooms with permission slips while this happened, but they all stayed around to eavesdrop). Then they took Pettigrew away without much fanfare. The news started rolling in the next day.

Black had asked Harry to live with him, and Harry had been thrilled. Though the Dursleys were more or less civil now, it still wasn't a completely comfortable co-existence.

Lupin probably had the same idea regarding moving in with Black, judging from his sabbatical announcement this morning.

It was convenient too that their misadventures in the forest gave her decent opportunities to get Lupin and Snape off her tail. Both of them saw too much about her to be simply glossed over. Thus, herrings were in order. Each of them would be allowed to uncover a small, expendable secret, just enough to distract them from pursuing the main trail further.

She'd meant for Lupin to learn about her time-turning from the start, and had deliberately appeared and disappeared when she knew Lupin was just around the corner. Some minor adjustments were necessary after the return of the Map to his possession, but not much. Lupin had been so busy watching for displays of her knowledge of the tunnel system and her mysterious teleporting ability that he'd stopped scrutinizing her with respect to other things – such as her magic and the patronus memory she'd removed.

For Snape, however, such a distraction obviously wouldn't suffice. He'd known her for much longer after all, and he _was_ a bit more perceptive. An explanation of a different sort would be necessary. A slightly bigger part of the truth and a slight bit of misdirection, to make her advanced training and her involvement with Slytherin House perfectly logical… And Severus bought it without even forcing her portrait to lie. The only potential downside, though this could really go either way, was that Severus now knew of her connection to Salazar Slytherin. It would have to be accounted for in their future interactions.

The mess of drama that dominated much of this year was finally drawing to a close. No more mysteries. Now, everything was all finally tying off into proper resolutions, and she could get back on track with her long term plans …

… right?

She was still missing something.

Something important. Something completely unrelated. A revelation she… had a feeling she might not like. But _what_?

If that thought made her slightly restless, nobody noticed. All her classmates were pretty anxious themselves over the upcoming exams. Hermione stuck to her old strategy of doing just well enough to be one of the best – at least, in subjects she liked. For Divination she was asked to gaze into a crystal ball and report her findings. Hermione made up something about seeing the inside of a tower, just because it was on her mind all the time these days, but she was sure it didn't pass muster.

Professor Lupin did indeed build an obstacle course containing a sample of all the creatures they'd discussed in class. Fortunately he sent students in one at a time, allowing Hermione to slam up her occulumency shields and overwhelm the boggart by willpower. She and Harry both finished with full marks.

A small part of her wondered if, had she permitted the boggart to take whatever form it pleased, she'd see the same thing as last time. A larger part admonished against the stupidity of pursuing that line of thought, so it was quickly dropped.

As the school year neared its end, so too did Tom Riddle's patience. She could tell that the Horcrux was gearing up to attempt possession, and she'd given it the impression of being "maneuvered" neatly into the right state of mind. Thus, the next time she fished it out of its transfigured prison for their daily "chat", she had armed herself with her old acacia wand rather than her new one.

' _Tom,'_ She wrote, and dripped several drops of saline solution onto the pages.

' ** _Sally! Are you crying? Is everything okay?'_**

' _I … I went to talk to Gloria today. I mentioned'_ here she allowed one drop to fall on the words, blotching the ink, ' _I mentioned how we weren't hanging out all that much anymore, and I told her all my feelings about wanting it to be like old times, and she said She said'_

' ** _Sally, take a deep breath. Take your time… Now, tell me what Gloria said. Everything will be okay, I promise.'_**

' _She said she doesn't want to spend that much time with me! That we don't even have much in common! She said we don't like the same things, don't have much to talk about, aren't friends with the same people, and_

' _And I asked her if she even saw me as a friend while we were working together, then. And she got upset too and told me I'd monopolized enough of her time already! She said she had to work with me for the sake of the project and – and that I have no right to demand more –'_

Three more saline drops later, Tom replied.

' ** _Sally, it doesn't matter what Gloria says. Everything will be alright.'_**

' _If you say so, Tom.'_

' ** _Gloria doesn't matter. Trust me.'_**

' _I… I guess so, Tom.'_

' ** _So what if she doesn't want you? You don't need her. It's not like you'll be alone without her. You still have me, for start.'_**

' _Exactly! I don't need her. You're a much better friend than her.'_

He was preparing to mobilize. Hermione scooted back and readied her wand. She'd wait long enough to see how he'd liberate himself from the constraint of the diary, and then she'd blast the horcrux with fiendfyre. Theoretically it should die when overwhelmed by the curse-fuelled flames. If not, there were a few other ways she'd like to try as well.

' ** _And I'll always be with you, unlike those people.'_**

' _You've always been here for me, listened to me, gave me advices, never pushing me away… I don't think I need anyone but you, Tom!'_

' ** _You don't need them. You have me.'_**

The layerings of charms and spells were shifting now. Some weakening, some distorting. The trust charm and the spell that she suspected would facilitate possession strengthened, and she could sense the soul move within – toward the surface, then finally starting to cross the solid boundary. The way it interfaced with the magic was intriguing. Did Voldemort spend a long time experimenting with this, or would a soul piece instinctively know?

But there was one spell that remained completely undisturbed, however. The one she couldn't guess the purpose of. It was definitely some sort of defence mechanism, probably a psychic one. She wondered what would happen if she tripped it.

' _I don't need them. I need you.'_

Satisfied, the soul piece finally emerged. It undulated like a black wave over the paper surface, exploring, searching, seeking perhaps the warm hand of a willing vessel. It soon faltered, not having found whatever it was looking for. The corners of Hermione's lips lifted.

' ** _Sally, you trust me, right?'_** Words appeared again tentatively.

' _Of course I do, Tom… But Tom, there's one more thing I've been wondering.'_

' ** _Yes, Sally?'_** He sounded rather short, impatient at having to indulge yet another inane request. Well, he was in for another surprise.

' _Did you know, Tom? What would happen if you split your soul?'_

The horcrux's reaction was almost comical. The pages shuddered as the wandering soul piece got yanked harshly back to the diary's interior. 'Tom' didn't even bother to reply, as he was too busy throwing up shields and activating defences in a disorderly frenzy. Panic was probably not an emotion he was used to.

Hermione waited, the word for _fiendfyre_ on the tip of her tongue. She was curious what his last defence would be. Terror, perhaps? Or something similar to intoxication?

"Sal."

Whatever her guesses, she was not expecting to hear _this_ familiar voice.

 _Godric_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think some people anticipated the time-turner thing.
> 
> The next one will be a double update, because it would be way too evil to cliffhang there...
> 
> Happy Canadian Thanksgiving!


	18. Year 3: Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: depression and possibly self-harm (?) Please skip to the end notes for a summary if this would be a problem

_Godric?_

Hermione carefully lifted her gaze away from the diary, to the three people that had appeared out of nowhere behind it.

Godric? Helga? Rowena?

"What is this? Some sort of projection?" she asked aloud. No, to call them projections would be inaccurate. The horcrux was not able to conduct legilimency – the very fact that it attempted to possess her earlier demonstrated his ignorance. Tom would not know about her previous life, which meant that all of this was inside her head.

"Exactly," said Rowena. She was as resplendent as ever, with just a hint of white in her hair at the temples and the faintest crow's feet at the corner of the left eye. Exactly as she had been when they'd last met in person... "You're hallucinating, Sal."

Interesting. But how was this useful to the horcrux at all? What did Tom mean to do? _Why are you here?_

"You know why it's making you see us, Salazar. We're your thoughts, remember? We know everything you know. You're just not admitting it – refusing to admit even this." It was Godric who spoke this time – or rather, Godric's image. But he looked so _real,_ down to the smallest detail! From the way his cloak hung carelessly over his shoulders, to the disgusted twitch at the corner of his lips when he perceived cowardice…

But she had _absolutely_ no idea what he meant. He was not making sense.

"I-I guess I'm here to apologize, Sal," said Helga, who had been wringing her hands uncertainly for a while.

 _What do you mean, Helga? You did no wrong_. She'd given up trying to call them illusions created by her mind. Helga looked so lifelike, she might as well address her like such.

"I know, but still… I'm sorry."

 _Why? You have nothing to be sorry for, Helga_!

Helga gave her a pained look.

She didn't like it. On that face it reminded her too much of the careful, tender expression of a healer at the bedside of a grievously ill patient.

"Are you happy, Sal?"

Still not making sense, but she'd seen enough. _Fiendfyr-_

"Fiendfyre?" Rowena raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're up to controlling _fiendfyre_ now, Salazar? You're pale as a sheet and there's a slight tremor in your fingers. Do you want to burn the whole school down?"

… _What? I don't know what you're talking about, Rowena._

But maybe… maybe not fiendfyre after all. It _was_ better to be safe.

"You've got to stop lying in your own head, Sal. You lie too much already," Godric chuckled darkly, "How's this: I'll tell you why you're hallucinating us, of all people. Little Tommy there couldn't get into your head to see your weakness, so he got clever and went for the next best thing. He made you show yourself what scares you or grieves you most instead."

_But I don't fear you, Godric._

"Of course you don't. What you fear is this honest discussion."

And he met her eyes with such a challenging intensity that Hermione had to drop her gaze.

"I don't like cowards, Sal. Would it _kill_ you to acknowledge why you always feel incomplete? Stars, you've told Tommy-boy more truth in a year than you've admitted to yourself in fifteen!"

How? She did _not_ –

"Yes you did, Sal, even if you both don't realize it," interjected Rowena, "Isn't this what you wrote in the horcrux? Once upon a time there was a youth named ' _Sally'_. 'Sally' was fairly smart, not short on material comfort, ambitious, and quite accomplished… but also very lonely. Sure, there's been a fair share of acquaintances and associates who sought 'Sally' for some purpose, but very few friends. Sounds familiar yet?"

 _Yes,_ Hermione realized. _Hell_ , _yes_...

"Then 'Sally' met 'Gloria', 'Rowley', and 'Henry', and they started a very big project… a _school_ project, I believe you wrote?" Rowena laughed, and her smile turned almost fond. "As they worked, they became the closest friends. Despite the toil and the struggle, it was the happiest time of 'Sally's' life – and probably the closest she'd ever come to fulfillment. There was a glorious challenge to overcome, and she was in the company of three friends almost as tight as family.

"But then the project was complete. Their goals had been achieved and then some more. Her friends one by one discovered greater joy in the company of another. Everybody basked in happiness, but not 'Sally'. And being unable to share that contentment, she began to feel like an intruder among her best friends – her only friends. She figured she was inconveniencing everybody just by being among them, and truthfully, she was. Everybody was trying to enjoy the perfect life that they'd worked so hard to earn, and 'Sally' was like a painful splinter. Out of place in their already completed worlds."

 _Why, aren't you ever the rational one, Rowena._ Hermione thought, the bitterness surprising even herself. She vaguely noted that her acacia wand had begun to slip slowly through her fingers sometime ago.

"Oh Sal," Helga was peering down at her with pity now, "That was the real reason why you couldn't stay with us, wasn't it? Everybody thought you left us when you left the school… but it was us who left you behind in the first place."

It now fell with a clatter to the floor.

"I'm so, so sorry, Sal. Sorry that we grew apart. Sorry that we each found greater love and you were left alone. Sorry that you threw yourself into your work, hoping to find completeness after wrestling with just one more mystery, one more challenge, when you could never find it there."

 _I still don't know what you're apologizing for, Helga..._ But how was it that sympathy could hurt _so_ much?

"You built yourself into a tower, Salazar. The tallest there is, because that's just how you are. And you gave it impenetrable walls too, because you detest vulnerability. I- I guess I can see why you do - because how else would you keep your masterpiece standing? People admire its majesty with envy, but in reality, well… You've kept everyone else far away, and locked yourself inside. You did the best you could, but you were still vulnerable to fate and your own nature, Sal. You can only keep building higher and higher. But when you look upon all the happy, content people in the world through your spyglass it hurts you terribly."

 _The tower!_ No, that couldn't be it. She was hardly isolated from society. And who said she had to have a constant companion? She'd seen herself with a partner and a child in the Mirror of Erised, but that was just a boggart distortion. It wasn't _really_ her so-called "heart's desire"…

"Sal…" Rowena shook her head chidingly, "Why else would you fear something that won't ever come true?"

… And she definitely wasn't jealous that her friends each found someone who'd stay with them till death, that they'd each found a love with whom to form a bond greater even than the one among themselves…

"And in the end you've ended up more alone than ever," Helga sighed, and grief was all too audible in her voice now. "Stuck in a wholly different time, in a body that's decades behind your mind, surrounded by people who cannot even begin to understand you. Alone, friendless –"

 _But I have Esmeralda!_ She protested once again, for the sake of protesting at the very least.

"Basilisks don't share the same emotional needs as humans, Sal," said Helga gently, "You know this."

… _and I have the portraits. Your portraits!_

"Not real, Sal. Just shadows of us."

… _Harry, Blaise, Daphne, Theo –_

"Dolls playing tea party, Sal! Puppets on your strings!" Rowena exclaimed. "You _made_ them attached to you so that you can spread your influence through them! Don't tell me you've played for so long that you're actually starting to believe your own act?"

Hermione shook her head defiantly. She _so_ wanted to tell them that they were absolutely _wrong_ , but then she realized she'd run out of names.

She looked from face to face, and saw only compassion in their eyes now. But their pitying gazes felt like daggers to her heart. There was nowhere to hide, and nothing to hide anymore... And _hell_ , she felt the pain now. All the aches and chills that had been buried deep within her - so deep and so well, she'd thought she could pretend they didn't exist - were now impossible to ignore. Ripped open, laid bare.

 _Would_ it kill her to acknowledge the truth?

 _What do you want?_ Anger, embarrassment and a dozen other unidentifiable emotions churned in her, toward herself and toward fate. _What in the seven hells would you fucking have me do?!_

"Why don't you come and join us, Sal?" Rowena whispered.

_Join you?_

"You know exactly how I mean. You won't find completeness in this life, Sal. You'll try and try and carry on as you always do, but some part of you will always be hollow. Why stick around anyways?"

_I…_

But that was a remarkably interesting question _._

"Don't you ever get tired of this inane puppet show? It's just going to go on, and on, and on. What's the point of it all?"

There was a special dagger in her bag. An elaborate one, with an ornate, beautifully carved handle of obsidian and a polished sheath of jade. Not much good in a fight, but quite suitable for… other purposes. But the problem was that the sheath was charmed as a protection measure not to open unless she was _sure_ what she wanted.

The blade was coated with venom, after all, and a single scratch would be irreversible.

"Scared, Sal?" Godric raised an eyebrow. "It's not as if you weren't ready to say goodbye to the world back then already. It wasn't recklessness that made you drink a potion you knew was very likely to kill you, was it?"

_The reincarnation potion was a scientific experiment –_

"Sure it was," said Rowena appeasingly.

 _Of course it was!_ Fingers slidalong the sheath’s cool, angular edge experimentally. The gravity weighed heavily in her palm.Damn you, damn you Rowena...

"And so is this. Have you ever wondered how it feels when basilisk venom courses through the human body? No one's ever documented it, you know. Would it be fast? Slow? A searing fire through your veins? Or a gentle, gradual wave-front of numbness as feeling leaches away? Are you not the least bit curious, Sal?"

 _Probably searing, and carried by the bloodstream. A fire that burns away all,_ Hermione thought detachedly. It was nice to have something else to think about other than the freshly dug hole in her heart. _But there's the magical component as well, which can't be discounted. It would take two minutes, five minutes tops…_

Grasping the handle, she pulled. She was met with resistance, but she simply strained against it harder -

" _Sal? Is everything alright out there? I thought I smelled…"_ Esmeralda's uncertain voice floated out from the statue.

" _Stay where you are, Esmeralda!"_

Something about her voice must not have reassured the basilisk very much.

"… _Fine, but at the first sign of trouble I'm coming out!"_

"She won't stop you in time," she thought she saw Rowena give a shrug. "At the first smell of blood the deed would already be done."

It didn't matter. Hermione was hardly listening to her now. The resistance had yielded.

The dagger slid from its sheath soundlessly. Venom on the blade glistened in the dim green light, a smooth, flawless lacquer over gleaming steel, and she stared at it in fascination as she carefully, _reverently_ moved the dagger in front of her.

"It wouldn't take much," murmured Godric, "a simple slit on the wrist should be enough. No complications at all."

"Do it, Sal." Helga bowed her head, "We'll be waiting for you on the other side."

The dagger hovered. Her heart raced.

"And maybe we'll all be together again, forever."

The dagger plunged.

…

…

A scream echoed through the chamber. Godric, Rowena, and Helga vanished in a blink as a black mist rose up and then disappeared. Hermione pulled the envenomed dagger from the now ruined diary and returned it to its sheath.

Tears mixed with the seeping ink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter synopsis: The protective charm on Tom's diary caused Sal's mind to attack itself with her darkest thoughts. Sal's natural persuasiveness and a few suppressed emotional wounds made for a dangerous combination, leading to a "to be or not to be" moment. But she destroyed the diary in the end. 
> 
> Hopefully I didn't put too many people off with this chapter! It's quite different from the tone of the previous two years. I hope it wasn't completely out of the blue though


	19. Year 3: Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a part of a double update. Have you read the previous chapter?

"… _Sal?"_

Silly Tommy. Of course she'd at least rid the world of the horcrux first. What kind of pathetic excuse of a dark lord would she be if she'd allowed half a scrap of soul to gloat over her as she perished under her own blade?

(Except she really was pathetic. Disgustingly so. For being reduced to a quivering wreck hunched over on the floor of her own chamber, for losing control over a mere reminder of the _stupidest_ of weaknesses, for considering suicide in the first place - )

" _Sal,"_

Not that Voldemort had any idea what he was doing. But damn him for actually managing to strike a nerve in his blundering! She could see exactly what he did now. Hallucination with a strong psychic encouragement for all negative thoughts. Which would actually be pretty ineffective most of the time since he'd have no idea or control over what the attacker would see.

(But so excruciatingly devastating for duplicitous, silver-tongued wimps hiding behind polished facades. That, she could attest to.)

The air around her was beginning to heat and cackle, like static before a lightning strike.

(Runaway magic? How deplorable. What was she, nine?)

So direct it toward a sacrificial target. Allow it to destroy, but don't bring the tunnel down. Conjure glass. Form matters not. Conjure. Shatter. Pulverize. Repeat –

The glass blocks and vases had barely finished materializing when they exploded in spectacular, glittering fireworks. Shards swirled around her like a maelstrom, faster and faster as they shattered again and again into smaller bits. What little that got close enough to brush by her skin felt like coarse sand, and soon that was all that was left around her. A thick circle of glistening sand and dust and…

" _Sal. Are you alright?"_

…and damn it why won't these tears stop falling?

* * *

Esmeralda found it difficult to remember the last time she'd felt worried for Sal. It was not that she did not care about the wizard's well-being. It was just that for the longest time, she'd regarded her Teacher as invincible. Just like the opinions that the little serpents in the vicinity seemed to have toward her.

There were a few times – Five? Or Seven? – a long time ago, when her Teacher had returned smelling of exhaustion and open wounds. Those occasions had not concerned Esmeralda, since she knew Sal would be back to normal after some time in the bathtub with medicine water. But today, Esmeralda had become acquainted with a new scent that she'd never expect from her Teacher.

There were tears of sadness this time. And now Esmeralda was worried, because she had no idea what would happen to Sal next.

When that awful shrieking noise came to her ears, Esmeralda had kept her words and went out to check on Sal at once. Her Teacher seemed scared, shaking and huddled in on herself in a fashion almost reminiscent of a frightened small herbivore. Glass was flying everywhere, though Esmeralda knew it was probably Sal's own doing. Did she momentarily forget that her soft, scaleless human skin could be easily damaged by the rough, sharp pieces? But Esmeralda could tell that Sal was probably oblivious to most anything at the moment. Everything but the sadness.

" _Sal. Are you alright?"_ Esmeralda asked again, and the glass pieces finally settled.

What could have caused her Teacher – her brilliant, invincible Teacher - to fall into such a state? The other serpents thought Esmeralda was invulnerable too, but Esmeralda knew very well that she was not. A single crow of a rooster could kill her. She'd always thought it a bit funny. Such an innocuous thing for everyone else, yet it was fatal weakness to her. Perhaps, Esmeralda realized, Sal had just found her own rooster song.

Esmeralda would like to protect her Teacher from whatever it was, but Sal's rooster song seemed to be one audible only to herself. She settled for gliding forward and carefully wrapping herself around Sal like she'd seen the smaller serpents do for their young. She still wasn't entirely sure what the gesture did – to her it was merely a very loose stranglehold, but she'd surmised that it was meant to be protective and comforting.

Sal seemed to appreciate it, and chuckled a bit between sniffles. " _A hug, Esmeralda? Thank you."_

Esmeralda took some time to ponder the new word, _hug_ , as she felt her Teacher shift and lean gently into her side. Sal sighed, and Esmeralda was content to stay in that position with her until she no longer felt the tiny drip drop of moisture on her scales. It was the least she could do for the Teacher she admired.

" _How did you manage, Esmeralda?"_ Sal whispered, " _All those centuries, left here alone and peerless to teach and watch over the school and the other serpents. How did you do it, when I can't even handle loneliness for a few measly decades?"_

Esmeralda considered. " _I suppose I just…did, Sal. I enjoy spending time with you greatly. Your company is mentally stimulating in ways that would not be possible when I'm on my own, and it makes me very happy to see you again after a thousand years. When you're not here, I spend more time thinking and observing and let the time pass."_ It wasn't the same as when her dear Teacher was here, but it felt like an acceptable way of living to Esmeralda.

But Esmeralda was solitary by nature. It made sense for her, since it was rare enough for one basilisk to exist let alone two in the same millennium. Sal, despite being the greatest of Teachers, was human.

Esmeralda could only guess at how that would feel.

* * *

After the horcrux and the glass storm, the silence in the marbled hall was more noticeable than ever.

Hermione was slowly becoming aware of a numbness in her left leg from kneeling on the cold stone floor. Her chestnut chair inside would be more comfortable, but she didn't think she could bear to see the portraits without bursting into tears again. Not yet. She'd have to stay here for a while longer, long enough to prepare herself to go back out and soldier on. And she was very grateful to Esmeralda for her presence.

They – her friends, the hallucinations, her thoughts, whatever – they were wrong about her "experiment" with the reincarnation potion. It was not absolution in death that she'd sought when she drank the could-be poison. (Although, she had to admit that the idea of fading away into blissful unawareness… hadn't been unwelcomed.)

No, what she'd been chasing was hope.

When she'd first developed the hypothesis, she'd seen a glimmer of a second chance at happiness. A second chance to _live_. She'd simply had to pursue it. And so she'd pulled out all the stops, worked with almost reckless abandon, and willingly crossed into the realm of death in hope of a _possibility_ that she'd be born again. All for the smallest hint of hope.

And now, in this second life, she'd have that hope again. It didn't matter how things looked today, or how things would look tomorrow. As long as she lived to see the day, there was always a chance that she would be happy. There would be uncertainty, of course. Perhaps a small one, perhaps a larger one. 50% +/- 50%.

But that was alright. A chance was all the reason she needed.

Although, hallucination-Godric was correct. It was high time for her to come to terms with her own warring desires. She saw now, very clearly, that shunting half of it away in the hope that it would go away in time was not a good strategy. She wanted - needed - companionship. She needed love. Someone to share her heart with. And if that was a weakness, then it seemed it would be a necessary one.

It was ironic that in attempting to destroy her, Tom had provided her a timely warning. It was the same that Baron Edmund had been hinting at back when she'd first arrived as Hermione Granger, but the necessity hadn't truly hit home until now. Ever since recovering her memories, she'd been so focused on rebuilding her tower, on resurrection, that she'd forgotten that the true value of the opportunity was rebirth. The chance to start over.

The shape that the boggart had taken should have clued her in as well, if she hadn’t been so reluctant on the uptake. Once, her greatest fear had been vulnerability. Now, whether she liked it or not, it had clearly turned into something much more complicated.

This time around, she would try not to – no, she absolutely _refused_ to become the same jaded lord who turned to dust alone in his castle. This time around, she would not build the same tower, as formidable as it may be. This time around, she would leave a door. Or at least bring someone up with her.

So perhaps the next time someone comes close to figuring her out, she just might lower her mask just a little. A small leap of faith ought to be a fair exchange for a little bit of realness in the midst of the masquerade and puppet show, yes? And her fellow students and the Nocturne Group… although she couldn't call them peers, she could definitely call them _friends_. Perhaps she should give them a chance to catch up, then. As interesting as time travel was, perhaps it should be a plan for later. After all, there were always other ways to obtain a time-turner.

And perhaps it was now time to clean up her face and go back out. Leave the safety and privacy of these stone walls. Face the music. Then she'd modify her timetable with McGonagall and return the time-turner. And then write a nice letter home to her parents. And then find the Baron to thank him. And then she could consider why the half a scrap of soul that came out of the dying horcrux was far too small to be all that was missing from the main part… but that was a thought and a plan for later.

Now, it was time for Hermione to live.


	20. Year 3: Chapter 20

The morning was especially sunny when Hermione boarded the Hogwarts Express with her friends. The sky was clear, and the air was fresh and crisp with the afterscent of a recent rainstorm. Somehow, everyone looked happier than they had all year - perhaps because of the departure of dementors? - and Hermione was smiling right along with them.

With a compartment to themselves, the Nocturne Group had a great time playing cards and nitpicking over codes - their recent experience with chasing after a certain animagus had illustrated a need for alternative forms of communication. Daphne and Harry gossiped excitedly about the upcoming Quidditch World Cup and the fact that it would be hosted in Britain with whoever dropped by to visit. When Harry and Hermione eventually made their way to the Weasleys' compartment half-way into the trip, the Quidditch conversation only got wilder.

Neville came by and challenged Ron to a long game of chess that ended in a tie. Ginny left for a while to say bye to Colin Creevy and another one of her yearmates named Luna. Fred and George showed Hermione a few prototype products, including a hilarious fake wand and something they dubbed Ton-Tongue Toffee. Hermione in turn let them read an early copy of Journal of a Wandering Mage Vol. 2, which was due to come out in two weeks.

Like last year, her summer would be packed. There would be press conferences to attend, letters to write, information to fish for, and one or however many more pieces of her dearest _heir_ 's soul to start tracking… Now with access to more resources, she could also start a real advance for the rights of dark art users. Not to mention strengthen her influence among the old families. Add another level to the start of a magnificent tower.

But at the same time, she had to open that tower up… Now _that_ was a _really_ daunting task. She had to admit she was slightly terrified. How was she supposed to deliberately leave a vulnerability without someone exploiting it? How were 'relationships' meant to work? Heck, where would she even start? Did people just _know_ that they're meant to be when they meet, or - But surely she would figure something out, eventually.

Harry caught up with Lupin getting off the train at King's Cross. They were greeted by an ecstatic and much more well-dressed Sirius Black. "Thanks for convincing me to turn Pettigrew in!" he exclaimed, "I'm free now! And I'm apparently the head of House Black now too. Merlin, I feel like a whole new person! Now come on Harry, we've got to explain to your aunt and uncle, and then you'll have to help me clean out another room in that madhouse left behind by my parents so that we can put your stuff inside. Oh, and I've got a surprise for you I know you'll love - and it definitely has nothing to do with Quidditch and top box tickets!"

Harry laughed. Hermione smiled.

A new life _does_ feel pretty great. Especially if you don't waste it.

Waving her friends goodbye, Hermione took off happily toward muggle London, toward Mum and Dad, and toward the home of her second childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo... this is all I have for now. I'm working on the beginning of year 4, but so far Sally hasn't even gotten to school yet. As one might expect, the issue of pairings will start to be addressed from this point onward. 
> 
> **Notes on pairings:**
> 
> The candidates for Sal's love interests have been largely determined by reviews and the poll on fanfiction.net. I actually hadn't intended to a romance subplot at all when I started out, but then people's enthusiasm infected me.
> 
> I can promise that:  
> \- Sal won't date anybody under 20, at least not until they turn 20. (To clarify, Sal's mental age is 55, which is about the same age as Voldy) However, her classmates might still crush on her  
> \- Sal isn't the type to fantasize all day about somebody's lips or swoon over someone's perfectly toned abs. She's more likely to obsessively stalk her love interest, worry unnecessarily over their wellbeing, worry about their opinions, etc.  
> \- There will be no love at first sight for Sal. 
> 
> *Note: Since we have a man reincarnating as a woman, I don't think it's possible for this story to be perfectly straight no matter what I do. Just so that people know what they're getting into...
> 
> **Sally's Tarot cards near the start of the year:**
> 
> A bunch of chapters back in divination class, Sally drew #20 Judgement, #18 The Moon, and #16 The Tower. Technically this is because Neville didn't shuffle, so the 2nd, 4th, and 6th last cards just happened to be these three. If one is superstitious, however, one might interpret this to mean that a long-buried fear (The Moon) is going to be revealed (The Tower), leading to absolution and a fresh start (Judgement). 
> 
> And then there's Neville's interpretation: A deep secret (The Moon) related to rebirth (Judgement) is at risk of being revealed with dangerous consequences (The Tower).


End file.
